


The Lazarus Project

by LadyIrina



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awesome T'Challa (Marvel), Dealing With Loss, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Loss, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Okoye is not happy, PTSD, Slow Build, Zemo doesn't want to live, Zemo gets a nickname, everyone wants to marry T'Challa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-12-07 09:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18233243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina
Summary: In an effort to do penance Zemo swears to protect T'Challa at any cost and becomes a royal guard in Wakanda. There he waits for the day when he'll finally be allowed to die.T'Challa, done with letting vengance consume him, wonders if it is possible to heal what has been broken.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read my fic 'Icarus Falling', here is what you need to know:  
> Age of Ultron never happened. Zemo's family was killed in New York when the Helicarriers fell during Winter Soldier. Civil War happened, minus the twins. Then, later, in the battle against Thanos, T'Challa asks Zemo ( who was serving his jail sentence in Wakanda) to help him in the fight. Zemo agrees to aid T'Challa because he feels guilty over the death of T'Chaka and also sees it as an opportunity to get himself killed and freed from the world during the mission.  
> After they defeated Thanos and seeing Zemo's loyalty to him and Shuri, T'Challa asks Zemo to join his guards and Zemo accepts.

[](https://imgbb.com/)   


When he had agreed to become a royal guard, this is not what Zemo had been expecting. He doesn't have any experience with royal etiquette, true, but he doubts piggyback rides are included in any training for the position.  
Still, after Shuri had managed to sprain her ankle during her training session, she insisted on him carrying her to her lab up in the main building so she could fix it. And while he's pretty sure she'd rather have hobbled her way up there than accept help from her brother; it didn't seem to bother her to instruct Zemo to kneel down, attach herself to his back and then basically kick at his flanks to make him move.

“I'm fairly sure this isn't what I'm supposed to be doing.” Zemo states. T'Challa had been called away that morning and his sister has no trouble exploiting that.

“Nonsense. Faster.” Shuri says, kicking at him again. It seems like her ankle isn't bothering her too much.

Like most people in Wakanda, Shuri had not been thrilled when T'Challa had announced that Zemo would not be returning to his cell but would become something of a bodyguard to the royal family instead. She, however, was the first to recover from the shock and has clearly decided to find pleasure in pestering her brother's new toy.  
In the past, Zemo would have been furious at the impertinence of this little girl, from her treating him as her own personal pony, to her imaginative introductions of him to strangers, (This morning she had claimed he was a 'lab experiment gone horribly wrong'.) but after everything that has happened in his life, few things matter to him anymore and he finds he actually doesn't care enough to do anything about it. 

Arriving at the lab, he enters and walks over to her workbench, where she slides down his back to land on her on feet. She hisses softly with pain, an annoyed look on her face, limping over to where she can start up the machines to tend to her injury. “I got something for you.”  
Zemo waits for her to inform him what it is.  
Shuri plots something into the computer and then holds out a datapad towards him. “This is yours. I've uploaded stuff you might want to read through if you do intend to stick around, and for everything else; I've hooked you up to the internet.” She waves the device a little impatiently, not looking at him.

Zemo walks over and takes the datapad.

“Now, I need to work. Go away.” Shuri says, already back to entering information on the floating screen in front of her.

Nodding, Zemo backs away a couple of steps before he turns around and leaves.  
He decides to go back to his designated room and see what is on the datapad. He has no other tasks and Shuri is right; Zemo's knowledge about the country he's currently in is woefully lacking, and he knows how important knowledge is. There is little left of the man he'd once been but his penchant to do everything to perfection is one aspect he decides to allow to linger. He suspects that particular trait will be as beneficial to his new role as it had been in the army. 

Easily ignoring the scowls of the guards he pass on his way to his room, Zemo has no trouble accepting he's unwanted there. He's not there to please others, merely atone for what he did.  
His existence is a punishment, not a privilege.

Zemo enters the room, which is every bit as luxurious as the rest of the building and completely wasted on him, and he settles by the desk there to read.

- 

Hours later later, when someone enters his room, Zemo expects it to be T'Challa and lifts his head from where he is memorizing Wakandian rules, regulations and traditions.  
A sharp jolt of... something goes through him when he finds himself looking at Ramonda. T'Chaka's widow and T'Challa's mother. Zemo gets up to stand to attention.

Ramonda studies him and she does not look pleased with what she is seeing. Eventually she steps closer. “I take it you know who I am.”

“Yes.” Zemo keeps his voice carefully neutral and his eyes on the door instead of her.

She comes to a halt close enough to see what's on his desk but not close enough to indicate any friendly intent. Her eyes are anything but friendly. Ramonda makes a thoughtful sound. “I promised myself I would never lay eyes on my husband's murderer in person.”

Zemo doesn't flinch, doesn't visibly react, as that is what he is. Nothing will undo that.

“And now,” Ramonda continues, when he offers no apology or explanation, “they tell me you are to guard my son's life.”

“He has made that request of me, yes.”  
“I am sure you can see why I am not thrilled by the idea.”  
“Yes.” 

Ramonda frowns, then glances around at the room and his surroundings. He has nothing personal there. “When I heard, my first instinct was to come here and threaten you. No, not just threaten. I would promise you a worse fate than death if you let any harm come to my son.” 

Zemo keeps his stare on the door, but he can feel her eyes resting on him now.

“But I don't have to, do I?” Ramonda says, her voice hard. “Because you do know how it feels to lose a son.”

That finally gets a reaction. Before he can stop himself, Zemo clenches his jaw and he knows she sees the pain flash in his eyes before he can bury it again. He quickly gathers himself.  
Turning his head to look directly at her, Zemo holds her gaze. “If I can protect your son from harm with my own life, I will.”  
For a moment, they stare at each other, her considering and him having nothing to hide, and eventually Ramonda gives a nod.

“Very well.” She says. 

Zemo turns his gaze back to the door. 

When Ramonda goes to leave, she actually pauses in the doorway and looks back at him. “Do you know what they call you?”  
“No.”  
“They call you the Royal Hyena.” Ramonda closes the door behind her with quiet grace and dignity.

Only when he's alone once more does Zemo drop his tense stance. He ponders briefly on his new name. He knows from what he has read that it's definitely not meant as a compliment. No, the hyena is considered a harbinger of death, a trickster, a creature which symbolizes negative traits and bad things. The 'Royal' title is to label him as the family pet and signal his lack of freedom. A nickname which is a far cry from the proud Sokovian officer he'd once been.

But he finds that he doesn't mind the new identity.  
He is no longer Helmut, that man died with his family, so he might as well be the Royal Hyena; someone not to be trusted and a harbinger of death to anyone who threatens the royal family of Wakanda.

- 

T'Challa returns late that night, but still finds the time to drop by Zemo's room. “I had to attend to some important matters,” he explains, as if he is required to do so to someone like Zemo, “but I hear Shuri kept you busy. That's good.”

Zemo nods.

Looking around the room like his mother had done, T'Challa then glances back to the Sokovian and realizes that his words of him not needing to be standing to attention only meant that Zemo had switched over to a firm 'stand at ease'-stance instead.  
T'Challa's gaze comes to a rest on the tracker collar still around Zemo's neck and knows he still has one around each wrist as well. He gestures faintly towards the collar. “I shall have Shuri remove them. I don't think they are needed anymore, do you?” He placed those trackers on him to prevent him from escaping, but things have changed since then.

Zemo considers it. “Remove the ones on my arms, but I would like to keep the collar.”

Surprised, T'Challa shakes his head a little. “Why?”

“People see I'm walking around freely, they will take offense, thinking I won't be held responsible for what I did. With the collar on, they will have visual evidence I am indeed on a leash and there are consequences even if I'm not in a prison cell.”

Still frowning, T'Challa isn't comfortable with it. He doesn't like the imagery at all. Not one bit.

Zemo shrugs. “It's the logical and practical solution. You won't be getting complaints and people won't be riled up and tempted to do some vigilante justice.”

“For now.” T'Challa relents, making a silent vow to find some way to get that collar off him without the risk of increasing resentment among others. “They will accept it eventually. Just give them time.”

“I don't mind.”

“Oh, by the way, I have cleared you with the entrance guards. You are now free to leave the building as well.” T'Challa informs him. 

Zemo nods, as if he doesn't particularly care, which he probably doesn't. He doesn't seem to care about anything.

Well, except maybe for his appearance. Even in his prison cell, he had been meticulous about his clothes and his hair. As time had passed by, Zemo had grown far too thin due to his poor appetite and there had been clear signs of insomnia, but still he maintained a well-groomed image and obviously continues to do so now.  
T'Challa suspects the man has a PhD in maintaining a constant three-day beard to perfection.

“Well,” T'Challa says with a sigh, “today was busy and tomorrow will be worse. I'm going to leave you to... whatever you were doing.”  
“Reading. Shuri gave me homework.”  
That makes T'Challa laugh a little. “Good.” He turns to leave, but glances back at him in the doorway, grinning. “Word of advice; read well. She might actually quiz you. You have been warned.”

“I consider myself warned.” Zemo acknowledges, but he doesn't sound too worried. 

Figures. T'Challa suspects he has probably memorized everything already.

- 

Royal duties often drag T'Challa away or Ramonda will be present which means her son's pet may not be, and those are the times when Zemo doesn't quite know what to do with himself. 

Shuri will occasionally give him work to do. She once introduces him to the others present in the room as 'a guard they forgot to bring into the sun and over the years he turned into this' and he can't quite decide, or get himself to care, whether it's a step up or down from being called a hyena.

He to turns to physical training a lot of the time, but it's not enough to burn away the acidic energy under his skin. He reads quite a bit, there is a lot for him to learn and adapt to. He quickly learns to avoid news, especially TV, as the mere mentioning of any of the Avengers is enough to make him sick with rage and he knows too much exposure of that would eventually drive him truly insane.  
It's a strange new world for Zemo to learn to deal with.

In his cell, he'd been content with the presence of nothing. Staring at nothing, thinking about nothing, feeling nothing. 

The days here have too many disruptions, too many sounds and smells, even in his own private room, and it makes his skin crawl.

The nights brings dreams with them, which are a lot worse than the nightmares he occasionally has. The only thing more painful than returning to the ruins at night and discovering their bodies; to be with them again, alive, saved by some miracle, only to wake up and realize it had been nothing but a dream.

- 

T'Challa feels there is something wrong, or should he say something is 'more' wrong, but he can't quite put his finger on it until he discovers the reason by accident.

He is unable to locate Zemo and his guards are reluctant to tell him where he is. Finally T'Challa pulls rank and is duly informed that Zemo is training. With Okoye.  
At first it sounds like a good idea. While the man is adept at fighting, he's more at ease with guns than anything else and Okoye is on a whole different level so there is plenty to be learned from her. But still the uneasy feeling within T'Challa keeps increasing, until he is driven to seek them out.

He hears them long before he can see anything. The sound of physical combat, impacts and grunts of pain. T'Challa steps into the doorway just as Zemo goes down on one knee from a kick to his leg and Okoye spins around with her training stick, delivering a hard strike across his face. The hit results in another grunt of pain as Zemo's face is flung to the side and a fierce spray of blood erupts from his nose.

“Enough!” T'Challa barks, anger flaring up inside him. He barely registers Okoye straightening to attention as his focus is on Zemo, who is still down on his knee and covering the lower half of his face with his hand in a futile effort to stem the blood. He's bleeding bad, quite possibly from a broken nose, and T'Challa is suddenly even angrier.  
“What is this?” He demands, setting his glare on Okoye.

She meets his gaze stubbornly. “He wanted to train.” She has never hidden how she doesn't want Zemo there, how much she resents his presence and how she will never forgive him for what he did.

T'Challa keeps his glare on Okoye, but his words are aimed for Zemo. “Get up,” he snaps.

Zemo obeys, if a little unsteadily. His eyes are emotionless as always. The flow of blood shows no signs of stopping, dripping from his hand and his chin, running down the front of his throat and drenching the collar of his black, long-sleeved shirt.

“I have trained with you, Okoye,” T'Challa says, “and this is not training.”

“I told him I wouldn't hold back. He told me not to.” She counters without remorse.

T'Challa clicks his tongue, oddly disappointed. He then turns his face slightly towards Zemo, not looking at him. “Go see the doctor.”  
“I don't...” Zemo begins, but T'Challa bites him off; “Go!”  
Zemo leaves and T'Challa waits several moments, considering his words, before he turns back to Okoye. “No more of this.”

“Very well.”

“Train him like any other, don't coddle him, but no more of this.” T'Challa stares at her until she nods.  
When he turns to leave, Okoye is the one to speak.

“Why is he here, my king?” There is anger in her voice, yes, but mostly frustrated confusion.

Once again T'Challa has to consider his words. “Because,” he says and looks back at her, “there is so much destruction in this world. I want to try to put something back together.” He gives a little shake of his head. “You can't hurt him more than he's already hurting, Okoye. No matter how much he wishes it.”

 -

When T'Challa arrives, Zemo is sitting on an exam table and the doctor is prodding at the bridge of his nose. The bleeding has almost stopped and in the strong light T'Challa can see that his nose isn't broken at least, even if there is an unsettling amount of blood glistering on the pale skin.

But there is something about the way Zemo is sitting...

“Zemo. Take off your shirt.” T'Challa orders.

The doctor sends her king a puzzled look, but Zemo merely clenches his jaw and doesn't move.

“Take it off.” T'Challa repeats and everyone there knows he won't say it a third time.

Zemo still hesitates, but finally he slowly and awkwardly pulls off the shirt.

“Oh.” The doctor says, looking at the dark, colorful bruising covering various areas. His left upper arm, ribs on both sides, his stomach, his left shoulder blade and several spots down his spine. And there is no reason to believe his legs are in any better shape. Old and new bruises fight for domination. It hurts just to look at it.  
Every breath, every movement, has to be agony.

T'Challa forces his anger away. “This stops now.”

Zemo merely stares at the floor. Remains silent.

T'Challa waves the doctor and her crew out of the room and once they are alone, he steps in front of Zemo. “Look at me.”  
There is no reaction.  
Ignoring the blood, T'Challa takes a hold of Zemo's chin and lifts his face to look him in the eyes. “This stops now, yes?”

There is a slight frown on Zemo's face following those words. The soldier in him wants to obey, but the broken man doesn't. He wants the pain. He needs the physical hurt, because while the suffering inside him is much worse than any broken bone, a punch can at least distract him for a few precious seconds.

“No more.” T'Challa states, mildly but it is not something to be debated. 

Zemo nods, once, then lowers his face again. No more words are spoken. 

T'Challa sighs and because he doesn't know what else to do, seeing how the man looks so utterly broken, he slides his fingers through Zemo's hair in a slow, consolatory gesture.  
And because he still doesn't know what to do or say, he does it again. 

When the doctor eventually peers inside the room, she sees the outsider still sitting on the exam table, head bowed, and her king standing in front of him, his hand resting on the outsider's head, like the image of someone granting a sinner absolution.

- 

After that it is pretty obvious to T'Challa that Zemo can't be left to his own devices. The man needs something to do.

As Zemo doesn't get along with the people closest to him (Except Shuri, to a certain degree.) and keeps to himself most of the time, T'Challa decides to bring him on occasional missions to give him a change of scenery. The first couple of journeys, talking to him is a bit like talking to a wall but eventually Zemo thaws up a little and T'Challa sorts out topics that interests them both.

But as T'Challa can't be available all the time, he also saddles the man with a whole bunch of pro bono projects to keep him busy and out of trouble. He quickly concludes, with no small amount of smugness, that the projects are in good hands. Yes, Zemo does have a mean streak but he's not purely evil by nature and he clearly wants to please T'Challa judging by how fiercely he throws himself into the projects as the weeks go by.

Watching Zemo unleash all his deadly focus and pent up energy into something positive, well, maybe that is what blinds T'Challa to the obvious. Maybe he just saw what he wanted to see.  
And what he doesn't see, that leads to disaster.

It happens on the way to a meeting in Rwanda. They're standing outside the building, preparing to go inside, when T'Challa feels Zemo place light fingers to his lower back and apply a little pressure. He automatically moves as directed, doesn't think anything of it as he's quite used to his security detail shuffling him around like a piece of furniture, but the sound of the gunshot and the blood splattering his face snaps him out of his apathy in an instant.

Okoye and her second in command goes after the shooter like cheetahs. The others are trying to usher T'Challa inside the building, but he's already kneeling down by the fallen Zemo; wrapping a hand around his neck to stem the bleeding caused by the assassin's bullet.

“My king!” One of the Dora Milaje calls out to him. “We have to get you inside.”

T'Challa ignores her, too focused on controlling his own anger as he stares into Zemo's triumphant eyes. “Get an ambulance. Now!”

There is quite a bit of blood, but it's not gushing so no injury to the artery. It feels like the bullet has mostly grazed the side of his neck and opened a rather large cut. It probably hurts, judging by how Zemo is even paler than usual and very still, but it's not life threatening. Not yet. And help will arrive before it does.  
T'Challa leans down, amidst chaos and the approaching sirens, and says quietly and defiantly: “Don't worry. You're going to be just fine. It's just a graze.”

Disappointment flashes in Zemo's eyes and his body sags as he resigns himself to surviving this as well.

T'Challa keeps pressure on the wound and can't quite decide who he's most angry with; Zemo, for pulling this stupid stunt, or himself for not seeing it coming. 

 

The paramedics arrives, patches Zemo up and T'Challa sends him back to Wakanda with one of the Dora Milaje to have their doctors deal with the wound. He has to stay a little while longer to deal with the mess created by this assassination attempt.  
Okoye brings the culprit back still breathing, though she clearly wants to skin him alive, and it turns out to be a lone fanatic, waging a war on all royal people whom he believes are replaced by aliens called Skrulls.  
Still, the next hours are spent using diplomacy to keep things from escalating. Tempers are flaring and T'Challa finds himself having to remind the others again and again that he is the offended party and he is content as long as the assassin gets punished and that no further compensation is required.

T'Challa is asleep seconds after his plane takes off for his return to Wakanda. He dreams of bullets, blood and death.

When the plane lands, Shuri is waiting for him.  
He motions for her to join him as he walks inside and she does. “How is he?”

“Sulking. In his room.” Shuri glances over at T'Challa. “I saw the surveillance footage. He could have stopped that shooter. He saw him long before he became a threat. Why didn't he?”

T'Challa sighs. “Because he wants to die.”

Falling silent, Shuri doesn't quite understand why the thought bothers her. She decides to do some more research on Helmut Zemo. She needs to understand.

- 

He knocks once and when there is no response, T'Challa enters the room anyway.

Zemo is lying on his bed, but clearly not asleep, and he gets up and stands to attention at the sight of T'Challa. The Sokovian appears to be neither surprised or worried.

On the flight home, T'Challa had gone through a thousand different verbal corrections, but none seemed suitable when he now stands before him. It would be like yelling at a statue.  
T'Challa tilts his head and sees nothing but a faint line where the wound had been, a line that would soon vanish completely. “It looks good.”  
Zemo doesn't respond.  
Sighing, T'Challa wanders over to stare out the window. “I want you to give me your word you won't do that again.”

Zemo frowns. “My job is to protect you.”

“Yes,” T'Challa says, turning to face him, “but that wasn't about protecting me. That was you trying to catch a bullet. You failed your purpose by not protecting your king, Colonel. You put your wishes before the safety of the king of Wakanda. Again.”

The verbal jab at his former sins makes him blink. Good.  
“So do I have your word?” T'Challa challenges him.

Zemo gives a curt nod.

T'Challa exhales. Zemo won't break his word. He hasn't in the past and T'Challa somehow knows he won't in the future either. 

It's strange how T'Challa is trying to save the man who had been responsible for the explosion that cost his father his life, but ever since his failure to save N'Jadaka he can't stop asking himself if things could have turned out different for N'Jadaka if T'Challa had done or said something different. Was it his fault? Was N'Jadaka really beyond saving? Or had T'Challa failed him?

Fate had made it so T'Challa grew up surrounded by family, destined to be king, while N'Jadaka grew up without a father, to become bitter with the feeling of betrayal and abandonment and burning for revenge.  
Zemo had grown up in poverty in Sokovia, had learned to become tough to survive, had innocent blood on his hands, driven to extremes due to his thirst for revenge, in many ways much like N'Jadaka, but T'Challa was going to fight against him sharing his cousin's end. This time it was going to be different.

There has been enough death.

 -

Shuri also learns about Sokovia, about the harsh life there, and she reads files on Zemo's career in EKO Scorpion. She learns that he was an extremely efficient soldier who did what was ordered of him, no matter how cruel the orders were. His quick rise in the ranks came from him being ambitious and ruthless as well as intelligent. His fellow soldiers were fiercely devoted to him.

She learns about his family. Zemo's mother passed away when he was young. His father had been ex-military, strict but close to his son and his family. There had been a loving wife Zemo met while on weekend leave from the army. And then there was their son, little Carl, Zemo's pride and joy.

Shuri learns about how they died. About the chaos and destruction that followed the fallen Helicarriers. Shuri only wishes she hadn't read the parts about the devastating damage done to the victims of that incident and how Zemo himself had spent two days digging through rubble to find his father, his wife and his son. She quickly closes those files and prefers to dig further back in his past instead.  
Her stomach drops when she finds an article from an old Sokovian newspaper. She stares at it for a very long time.

When she sees T'Challa the next day, Shuri makes sure Zemo is not around before calling him over. “Brother, I looked through some local Sokovian newspapers yesterday. You know, for science.” Her excuse for everything. “And I found this.” She shows T'Challa a printed article covering some small Christmas event. 

The article has a photo of Zemo. He is looking at the camera while holding a child securely on his arm. The boy has his father's eyes, dressed in bright green colors, and he appears to be mesmerized by his surroundings in the way that only a child can be when seeing wondrous things for the first time.  
It's strange to see Zemo with a real smile on his face, he's almost laughing in the picture, something they've never observed in the present. There is actual happiness there. He looks like a completely different man.

“Do you think he'll want this?” Shuri asks quietly.

T'Challa realizes that he doesn't know. Would it be a treasured memory or just more pain?  
But the image does prove beyond doubt that it had not been wars or villains who broke the Avengers apart, it had been a grieving father.  
“I'll take it.” T'Challa says, and he folds and slides the article with the photo into his pocket. “Let's keep it between you and me for now.”

Shuri nods. “Also, one more thing...” She pulls up her datapad and flicks through some files until she finds what she wants and holds it up for him to see with a faint smile on her face, eager to lighten the mood. “Did you know he's actually Baron Helmut Zemo?”

“What?” T'Challa takes a hold of the datapad and reads. It has the history of the nobility of Sokovia and, yes, there is Zemo's family. It goes back centuries.

“He doesn't use the title, but it's a good thing a king outranks a baron, huh?” Shuri says, stealing back her datapad. She hesitates before adding; “If you give him the picture, don't tell him that I found it.”

“Understood.” T'Challa says. “But, thank you. For finding it.” 

A loving father, a brilliant tactician, a baron from a long line of nobility, a ruthless killer, just how many sides to Zemo are there? 

[](https://imgbb.com/)   



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa accepts a challenge and Zemo has a startling experience.

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

  
T'Challa heads to Zemo's room to drag him along to inspect some property he wants to buy to turn into a sport center for the local children there. If he can avoid it, and when his royal duties allows for it, he doesn't want to leave Zemo too much alone with nothing but his thoughts for company. He's gotten the impression that it's very dark and gloomy inside that mind.

Knocking before entering the room, T'Challa glances around and sees that Zemo still hasn't done anything to set his mark upon it. It looks more or less unchanged. “You know,” T'Challa begins, gaining Zemo's attention, “you are allowed to switch things up in this place.”  
Zemo glances around as well before he gives a faint shrug.  
“Make it more personal?” T'Challa suggests, struggling to find the right words. “Maybe... something from Sokovia? Some pictures?” Surely he had pictures, memories, mementos, something stored away somewhere outside of Wakanda. “If you want to bring them here?”

Frowning a little, as if he doesn't understand why T'Challa suddenly has a fierce interest in interior decorating, Zemo explains; “I don't need anything from my old life. It's gone. Sokovia means nothing to me.”

T'Challa decides not to push it. He can see the other man is already tensing up. If merely talking about Sokovia stresses him out, he most certainly isn't going to ask about putting up pictures of his family.  
Maybe one day he can give the photo to Zemo, but not now. For now, he will have to carry it for him.  
“Very well.” T'Challa keeps his voice light. “But just so you know; you are allowed to make changes.”

“Duly noted.”

T'Challa changes the subject. “Why didn't you tell me you are a baron?”

That makes the other man blink with surprise. “How did you...?” He begins but then he interrupts himself with; “Ah. Shuri has done some digging.”

T'Challa is about to inform Zemo that he is perfectly capable of using a computer to investigate someone himself, thank you very much, but Zemo continues before he gets the chance to speak.  
“It's just an old inherited title from a bygone time. It doesn't mean anything.”

“So, you are not the great Baron Helmut Zemo?” T'Challa asks with a slight smile.

Zemo shakes his head. “Just Zemo.” And he shows no signs of attachment to the title.

“Very well...” T'Challa relents, wondering how one could dismiss one's ancestors so easily. “Just Zemo then.” He gestures towards the door. “Let's go, Just Zemo. Our ride awaits.”

As they leave the room, Zemo points out; “But I do believe proper blood-royalty is not meant to fetch the help. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?”

T'Challa waves off the words. “I'm a king. I do whatever I want.” They both know the latter part is a filthy lie, but unlike most people in T'Challa's life; Zemo doesn't call him on it.  
“Of course.” Zemo says, opening a door for T'Challa to walk through before following himself.

They leave in a car for the neighboring city where the property is. It's a long drive.  
Zemo stares silently out the window for the most part and doesn't respond much to the effort at conversation from T'Challa's side.

Giving up on talking and settling for merely looking at him instead, really studying his face, T'Challa comes to the conclusion that with a little life in Zemo's eyes, they would be quite beautiful. There is intelligence in them, a Machiavellian cunning, and they have a lovely shape that compliments his face. T'Challa has already been reluctantly admiring both qualities for a while, but he remembers all too clearly the photo from that article. He now knows those eyes can shine with warmth and affection; unlike the dull flatness they now possess. They are distant, cold.  
In the photo, they are a sun-kissed brown, the eyes T'Challa studies at the moment are darker and with a touch of gray as if the light behind them has gone out.

He wonders if light can be brought back to those eyes.  
It's a long shot, but it's a challenge that T'Challa feels himself strangely drawn to.  
He knows how to fight, how to protect his home and his people, but can he heal? Not just keep someone alive, but bring back the will to live?  
That would truly be an achievement beyond victory in any fight.

After that day, T'Challa starts to look for signs of life, tries to make Zemo react, snap him out of his apathy, hoping that maybe one day he'll even smile? Not those smirks or displays of contempt usually seen on Zemo's face, but a real smile.  
Maybe not a smile as bright as in that photo, but T'Challa will take what he can get.

-

It's an uphill battle. Most of his efforts are met with blank looks, but T'Challa is not someone who gives up easily. And truth be told, it's nice to have a project that frees his mind from the crushing weight of his royal position and responsibilities. (Which included marriage proposals from princesses he's never met and Wakanda's own nobility casting their eyes his way.)

And even if Zemo doesn't smile, not yet, T'Challa at least gets a good laugh after introducing the man to some properly seasoned food. It's just too funny watching Zemo trying and failing to deal with all the flavors assaulting his senses while maintaining his blank expression.

For some bizarre reason, T'Challa becomes utterly fascinated with how Zemo is left handed when it comes to writing but ambidextrous when firing a gun and using other weapons.

To his surprise, he finds himself a little pressed to keep up when it comes to light that Zemo speaks seven languages fluently, is constantly improving his Russian and is currently learning Xhosa at an alarming speed. T'Challa tells himself he has so many royal duties to attend to that he simply doesn't have the time to put that much effort into everything.

One thing T'Challa is comfortably secure about is his fighting skills. He knows he is the better fighter.  
They hone their fighting skills just about every day, mostly at the same time, but they train in separate locations which makes it difficult for him to follow Zemo's development.  
A quick inquiry into Zemo's status confirms his initial impression; the Sokovian isn't helpless in a fight -Though he clearly prefers weapons to hand to hand combat- but he has a lot to learn before reaching Wakandian standards. But, to no one's surprise, he's putting the work in there as well.

-Bast save me from perfectionists, T'Challa thinks with wry amusement.

Eventually T'Challa asks Zemo to train with him. He isn't good at teaching theoretical stuff, but he knows he can help Zemo advance his fighting skills and maybe that is the way to reach him.

Zemo frowns. “Train with you? Why?”

“Why not?” T'Challa adds a grin and says; “Don't worry. I'll go easy on you.”

Zemo doesn't take the bait, because of course he doesn't, the robot. He merely agrees and focuses on the message that appears on the datapad he's currently holding.

T'Challa's trainer is not thrilled. It's decided that T'Challa still has to do his advanced training and only then would he be allowed one hour of... indulgence, as long as his schedule allows for it.  
That hour quickly becomes something T'Challa really looks forward to.  
It's just him and Zemo, and he gets to forget his responsibilities for a little while. And, despite countless good reasons why he shouldn't, T'Challa finds that he actually likes spending time with the Sokovian.  
As much as he loves Wakanda and is more than willing to carry the weight of being the king, it is nice to just be T'Challa some times and focus on nothing but banter and play fighting without an audience or people critiquing his form.

-

Throughout their following private training sessions, T'Challa is impressed by how much Zemo has improved, how he has learned and mastered new techniques, how much faster he's become, and though he was always lean; now he's getting some damn fine muscle as well.  
Zemo fights like a soldier, efficient and by the numbers, but he merges Wakandian moves with his own style and that results in him being skilled enough to make things challenging and interesting, but not a real threat.

During a close encounter after a particularly long chain of attacks and counter attacks, T'Challa manages to flip Zemo to the floor and he quickly straddles his waist, grabs his wrists and pins him down like the cat he's named after. 

They are both breathing hard as Zemo tries to break free, but T'Challa is smugly confident in his hovering position, pleased with how he finally has the tricky man at his mercy and considers making him ask nicely to be let up.  
Maybe even beg.

Suddenly, he can feel how solid Zemo's body is, trapped between his thighs, the heat that radiates from it and seeps into his own skin. There is also friction due to the man struggling for freedom. Zemo is a dangerous man and an extremely intelligent one, but it is starting to become all too clear to T'Challa that he's an attractive man as well, and the combination of all three traits is... tempting.  
Zemo finally notices that T'Challa has zoned out and he stops struggling. He goes still, looking up at him, passively waiting for whatever comes next.

Without thinking, acting on an impulse not uncommon when there is adrenaline and friction involved, T'Challa leans down and brushes his lips over Zemo's, feels the heat and the softness, before he moves in for a firmer kiss that blesses him with the sensation of delicate lips and the rasp of stubble. A shudder runs down his spine.

Abruptly realizing what he's doing, T'Challa opens his eyes and withdraws a bit, more than a little startled at what he just did and also instantly worried about Zemo's reaction.

Zemo has a blank expression on his face, doesn't move for what feels like a small eternity -but is probably only a couple of seconds- then he lifts his head and he is the one kissing T'Challa. 

T'Challa savors the sensation, too surprised for anything else. Zemo's tongue boldly touching his lips is even more unexpected, but again T'Challa reacts instinctively and opens up to give him access long before his brain is able to process what is happening.  
The deep kiss that follows is a lazy tease, oh so skilled, capturing all of T'Challa's attention, and this makes it easy for Zemo to slowly and discretely twist his wrists free from his grip. 

T'Challa feels the kiss breaking far more keenly than how his world tumbles as Zemo flips them over. The Sokovian is now the one straddling T'Challa's waist and pinning his hands down with a grip on his thumbs that will break the digits if he struggles too much.  
T'Challa is too stunned to struggle. And he is, embarrassingly enough, still a little out of breath.  
Zemo hovers over him, his hair tousled and eyes with the sharp focus of a hunter. 

“That's... cheating.” T'Challa finally manages to speak when he discovers there is no way he can free himself without one of them getting hurt.

Zemo leans down a little, enough to make T'Challa freeze again, and speaks softly. “I'm not above cheating. I do whatever it takes to win or to get what I want. You shouldn't forget that and mistake me for a good man warped by circumstances, my king. I was never a good man.”

Maybe not a saint, T'Challa wants to say, but there had to have been some good in him, otherwise the loss of his family wouldn't have broken him. Hell, there still had to be some left, for him to agree to atone for what he'd done in the wake of that loss.

“And in battle, you will meet many people like me. You have to be alert.” Zemo releases him, gets back up on his feet and holds out his hand to help him get up as well.

T'Challa takes the hand and allows him to pull him up. He has one moment to linger on the memory of how his lips had felt before they continue to train like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.  
It's only much later that T'Challa acknowledges how much he liked the sound of Zemo calling him 'my king'.

-

No wonder T'Challa needs Zemo to guard him. The man is so naive it is a miracle he is still alive. How could the man who chased Barnes with deadly determination be fooled by something as simple as a mere kiss?  
T'Challa is a damn good fighter though, and Zemo carefully maps and catalogs his movements and his patterns every time they train to use it against him at a later point. He doesn't hope to defeat him, but he can help him improve. If Zemo can learn how to counter his attacks, so can others, which means T'Challa needs to keep improving, keep evolving, to stay ahead and not fall for cheap tricks.

Zemo learned every side to the Avengers, memorized their entire lives, mapped their every weak spot, but he didn't have that much time to learn about his victims at the UN. He knows every name, every face, but he doesn't know them like he knows the Avengers.

From what he's read, T'Chaka was a kind, slightly conservative man who didn't seem entirely comfortable interacting too much with the world. Maybe he knew too much of the cruelty going on outside the borders of Wakanda. He was probably aware of that there were men like Zemo out there.

T'Challa has inherited his father's kindness, but he carries it with the strength, hope and courage of a young man. Zemo suspects that T'Challa is the sort of man that history will remember with awe and respect.  
Being in the presence of a person who shines as brightly as the sun is strange to someone like Zemo who has always operated in the shade, but he will do whatever it takes to protect and serve.

He just wishes that T'Challa would remember that Zemo is there as a bodyguard, a servant at best, someone to use. It's horribly confusing when T'Challa treats him like he actually wants him around.

One example of that is how they will often have breakfast together. T'Challa claims it is to save time when he has a particularly busy schedule that day and needs to talk things over with Zemo before he leaves to do whatever, but Zemo suspects that isn't always the case.  
Some mornings he gets the distinct feeling that T'Challa merely wants company. Why on Earth he'd want Zemo's company is an entirely other depressing subject.

“You do know there are other things than coffee and bacon?” T'Challa points out one morning, frowning at Zemo's plate. “Same thing for breakfast, every damn day.”

Zemo shrugs. “I like it.”

T'Challa shakes his head, resigned. “You would probably like a lot of the other options too.”

“Maybe.” Zemo says. “Probably.” He refills his coffee cup. “But I like this.”

Staring at him for a couple of seconds, T'Challa has to visibly force himself to let the issue drop and changes the subject. “Shuri finished your new... collar. I had it delivered to your room. It's got a new design which makes it so you can take it on and remove it as you please by yourself.” He leans back in his chair. “You don't have to wear it at all, remember? It's not an order.”

Zemo keeps eating, all too comfortable with the subject. “I don't mind.” And he truly doesn't. He makes a mental note to thank Shuri nonetheless, for her work. The collar is a visible reminder to the guards and he's grown so used to it that he hardly notices it anymore. In the past the idea of wearing a collar like a dog would have made him furious, but now he really couldn't care less. 

“Yeah...” T'Challa sighs, watching as Zemo keeps to his breakfast routine as always, even how he cuts his bacon. “So you keep telling me.”

-

That afternoon, going to meet T'Challa to get his approval for a couple of contracts he needs signed, Zemo is surprised to see the king himself power-walking down the hall towards him. “What...?”  
He only gets the one word out before T'Challa is by his side, hushing him frantically, and tugging him into the closest closet.

“Why are we in here?” Zemo asks, confused and annoyed.

T'Challa hushes him again and peers out through the crack where he has not fully closed the door.

Zemo squeezes closer and has a look as well. “What do they want?”  
There is a gaggle of matriarchs heading down the hallway and in their direction.  
“A husband.” T'Challa replies, and quickly adds; “For their daughters.”

“You don't approve of any of them?”

“I don't approve of being hunted!” T'Challa just about hisses, then gently closes the door as the women are now too close for comfort.

And speaking of which; he and Zemo are almost nose to nose in the narrow closet.  
T'Challa suddenly remembers how that mouth felt like against his own and tenses up. Zemo, however, seems unfazed and keeps looking directly at him, either willfully ignoring the sudden tension in the air or just plain stupid. T'Challa would put a fortune on the first option.  
Provoked, T'Challa stares back for a long while, but Zemo doesn't relent. He doesn't even flinch when they hear the woman chattering dangerously close as they go by the closet.

Driven by the sharp urge to get a reaction, his every earlier attempt having failed, T'Challa decides to copy his strategy; cheat.  
He leans forward and kisses him.

Zemo's lips are soft and pliant, just as tempting as he remembers them, but is it because Zemo merely allows it? Does he even want this? Trying to read his body language is futile. He doesn't tense up, but his hands remain idle by his sides. He doesn't seem displeased, doesn't pull away, but beyond that it's truly impossible to tell how he feels about this. To T'Challa there is a huge difference between wanting and merely accepting. And Zemo being in T'Challa's service, maybe he thinks he has no choice?

T'Challa pulls back. “This was a mistake.” He'd meant it as a tease, to use Zemo's own trick against him, simply win a childish fight, and didn't think about how it could be perceived by Zemo himself.

“Was it?” Zemo asks, sounding curious.

“Yes.” T'Challa confirms, which is when Zemo takes a hold of his shirt and yanks him close and suddenly they are kissing again. It's harsher now, more demanding, insistent, and T'Challa automatically responds to the challenge. He reacts, doesn't think. It feels like a dare and he never could walk away from those.

This round escalates further than last time and T'Challa feels a spark of smug satisfaction and a craving for more when he uses his own body to push Zemo hard against the wall and he both feels and hears the soft gasp from the other man's lips. He recognizes a sound of want when he hears it.

The moment is then shattered by Zemo's hands suddenly moving up to grab his shoulders hard and him saying the word; “No.”

Surprised, T'Challa pulls away as if the contact hurts him. He sees Zemo is seriously rattled, his eyes are flickering and his breathing is strained. Abruptly he focuses on T'Challa and repeats; “No.”  
Feeling uneasy, this was not what he had intended to happen, T'Challa touches his shoulder. “This wasn't... I didn't...”

Zemo doesn't look reassured. He hesitates, then flees. He slips out of the closet and disappears down the hallway, scattering the mothers like startled chickens.

T'Challa remains in the closet, wondering how he could have done something this stupid. Whatever had possessed him?  
He thumps his head against the wall and curses softly. Yeah, this had been a huge mistake.  
And he has a sickening feeling that it is going to have consequences.

-

Zemo feels his pulse racing as he stalks down the hallway and leaves the building. He walks over the plains for ages, blindly ignores the sun and the heat, keeps walking and walking, until he is blocked by a massive river and he ends up standing there on the riverbank like some misplaced statue.

He stares at the water and tries to understand why he feels so freaked out.

He had kissed T'Challa because he'd claimed it had been a mistake and it was. T'Challa needed to realize that Zemo was not a good man and Zemo wanted T'Challa's anger to lash out at him.  
But something else happened back there with T'Challa and a part of him doesn't want to acknowledge it. So he stands by the river until he manages to put it into words: Zemo had felt desire.  
For a moment, pushed up against the wall and deep in a captivating kiss, Zemo's blood had flared up with lust.

He hasn't felt that in over two years. He thought he'd never feel it again. Desire is something that belongs to his old self. To him and his wife.

But it doesn't, does it? If his commander wants something, Zemo doesn't have the right to deny him. And the more he thinks about it, the more annoyed he gets over his own reaction. It's just a physical act. Nothing more. Like kissing. And some of it he'd already done back when he was young, bored, horny and in the army.  
He realizes that refusing T'Challa had been a mistake. One more to add to his mountain of wrongs.

This, at least, is one mistake Zemo can correct. He can fix this. He _will_ fix this.

He turns and heads back to the main building, a plan already forming in his head.

-

Late that evening, just as T'Challa is falling asleep, someone enters his bedroom.  
While he knows the likelihood of it being an assassin is abysmally small, T'Challa still feels adrenaline rush through him and his muscles tenses up in preparation for a fight.

It's Zemo.

“What's wrong?” T'Challa asks, sitting up. He knows there has to be some kind of emergency for the man to enter his room, uninvited, in the middle of the night.

Zemo doesn't answer, merely walks towards his bed. He pulls off his shirt on the way, tossing it aside, all with the grim determination of a soldier on a mission. Yes, all the training has definitely left him with a dangerously fine shape. Moonlight coming in through the window paints shadows on the pale skin that underlines muscles begging to be touched.

Zemo gets to place his knee on the bed and leans in to kiss him before T'Challa regains the ability to speak and put his hand squarely against Zemo's bare chest. “Stop.”

Zemo stops, looks at him and waits.

T'Challa sighs. Oh, he has really messed this up, hasn't he? “Okay,” he says, “listen...” He pats the bed. “Sit.”  
Zemo sits down, facing him.  
Looking for the right words, T'Challa decides to merely jump into it. “Earlier, that was me doing something wrong. Not you. I wasn't thinking. I apologize.”

“I don't mind.” Zemo says in that horribly flat voice that T'Challa is learning to hate with every fiber of his being. 

“Well, I mind!” T'Challa snaps.

That seems to amuse Zemo a little at least and the tension in the room eases up.  
“Now,” T'Challa says, clearing his throat in an effort to salvage some of his dignity, “if you want to stay here and sleep, just sleep, that is fine. Otherwise, get the hell out of my room.”

Zemo studies him for a moment, clearly scanning to see if he really is telling the truth or not. He finally gets up, walks over and picks up his shirt. He pulls it on, casts a final and thoughtful glance back at T'Challa and then leaves.

It takes a long, long time before T'Challa falls asleep. He remembers too clearly how Zemo's skin had felt against his palm.  
He wonders if Zemo felt relief, disappointment or nothing at all when T'Challa turned his offer down and why it even matters to him.  
It shouldn't.  
It doesn't!  
And T'Challa will make sure it never happens again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worse and the past comes back to haunt them.

[](https://imgbb.com/)   


Two days later, they travel to inspect a run-down building in Kairo intended to become housing for the poor.

It almost feels like that late night incident had never happened.  
He'd been a little puzzled at T'Challa's rejection, had spent quite some time trying to work out what his angle had been for turning him down, how T'Challa would benefit from it, but Zemo was eventually forced to conclude that it had to be related to T'Challa's personal code of honor or something.  
Neither of them have mentioned the incident and strangely enough, there is no real awkwardness, which suits Zemo just fine. He really doesn't want to deal with more complications.

Arriving at the location and exiting the car, T'Challa decides that he wants to have a closer look at the decrepit structure and saunters closer while Zemo stays behind with the engineers and looks at a datapad containing the schematics for the place.  
It's going to cost a fortune to achieve what T'Challa wants, but money isn't really a problem as far as Zemo understands. He's just finding it hard to believe they're ever going to get rid of that weird smell there. 

Even for an old building, there is an odd, unsettling smell about it. It's almost familiar, but Zemo can't quite remember what it reminds him of.

A man suddenly cries out; “It smells like gas.”

No one is prepared for the loud explosion that comes out of nowhere. There is a massive pressure wave, several people gets knocked off their feet, debris flies through the air and the entire west side of the building crumbles in a mess of flames and concrete and whirling dust.

Zemo is already running towards where he'd last seen him before the explosion. “T'CHALLA!”  
He can't really see anything, there is too much dust in the air, and there are several fires belching out thick smoke as well. Despite this, Zemo still scouts around frantically for any sign of T'Challa.  
Nothing. There is not a single trace of him. That could only mean one thing... Nonono!

Zemo drops to his knees and starts blindly pulling objects away from the massive pile of rubble. “T'Challa!” Panic floods him.  
He hears shouting and someone is crying somewhere, but it's all muted to him. He keeps his focus on what is important; dig through the rubble. Find him. Find them.

Them?

For a moment, he can't quite remember who he is searching for; T'Challa or his family.

Past and present begins to mix.  
Every brick he manages to pull away threatens to reveal the familiar shirt his father had worn that day. Every soft thing he touches he fears will be T'Challa's broken body. 

His heart is beating so hard it feels like his chest is going to explode, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is removing more rubble and keep searching. Bricks, sharp rocks, shards of glass, iron rods, everything gets yanked up and thrown away in a desperate race against time.

Compressive asphyxia. Internal bleeding. Epidural hematoma. Comminuted fractures. Hemopericardium. Exsanguation.  
Zemo remembers all to clearly the words from when they had explained how every one of his loved ones had died. He remembers the congealed blood and the ashes and the horror he found.

There are voices, someone calls his name, but he blocks them out. He has to keep digging. He struggles to breathe. Smoke and dust makes his eyes burn. Pure dread is causing him to shiver so hard he has to clench his teeth to keep them from clattering.  
He has to keep searching. He has to keep digging. He can't fail again. Not again.

He feels someone taking a hold of his shoulders, his arms, but he fights them off to keep searching.

By the time they manage to drag him away, his hands are a bleeding mess. Voices tries to tell him that what remains of the building is not safe and it might collapse at any moment, but he still struggles to free himself to go back and continue digging.  
“No! Let go!” He's shouting in Sokovian and he's not even aware of it. “No, please, no. You can't! They are under there! NO! Let me go! I HAVE TO FIND HIM!”

He fights with all his might, but the hands won't let him go. He screams. He's going to lose them all over again. He's going to lose T'Challa because he couldn't get to him in time. He couldn't save any of them.

 

Coughing and pulling off his helmet, T'Challa stumbles out of the dust cloud and shuffles towards the group of people gathered next to the ruins, sending Shuri a silent thank you for his new suit which automatically activates when he's threatened. Without it, he surely would've been in big trouble when that building came down. Quick reflexes had allowed him to dodge most of the debris, but the vibranium had shielded him from what did hit him and knocked him off his feet.

Someone screaming as if they are in horrible pain catches his attention and it lifts the daze from his mind. He sees a dust-covered Zemo being restrained by a couple of the engineers and begins to make his way over to them. The frantic Dora Milaje are relieved beyond words to see him and he signals that he's okay so he can focus on Zemo.  
Zemo sounds panicked, beyond hysterical. When he finally notices T'Challa, it is like he's seeing a ghost and while he instantly goes quiet at the sight and his struggling turns sluggish instead of frantic; he looks anything but reassured. He looks terrified.

T'Challa makes his way over to him. “Calm, Zemo. Calm. I am okay.” His ears are ringing from the explosion, he feels a little shaken, but otherwise he is okay.

Zemo goes physically still at the sound of his voice and merely stares at him.

Motioning for the two engineers to release him, T'Challa watches as Zemo takes a step towards him, still wide-eyed and heaving for air. He's trembling like a newborn calf. There are actual tears in his eyes, either due to the dust in the air or the traumatic experience, or both.

T'Challa reaches out to touch his shoulder to reassure him that he is indeed real and alive, hoping the physical contact might anchor him and snap him out of it. “Zemo. I'm okay.”  
Zemo doesn't react. He just keeps staring.  
Squeezing his shoulder, T'Challa drops the helmet to free his other hand and steps closer to touch his face as well. “Zemo?”

The second his fingers brushes by Zemo's jawline, the man flinches away and without warning; he punches T'Challa in the face with all of his considerable might.

The punch sends T'Challa to the ground and before anybody can really react to what just happened; Zemo is already halfway down the street; making his escape.

“My king!” One of the Dora Milaje crouches down next to him and helps him sit up. “Are you alright?”

Bleeding from a split lip, his head ringing, T'Challa nods. He had not been prepared for that.

“Activate the tracker!” The guard is furious. Zemo is gone, but no one attacks her king and gets away with it. They all knew Zemo could not be trusted, that he'd turn on them again, it had only been a matter of time.

T'Challa waves a dismissive hand, shaking his head. “It's okay. Let him go. He won't hurt anyone.” He daintily touches his lip, feels the blood on his fingertips. “And I know where to find him. Let him go.” After what just happened, there is only one place Zemo will run to now.  
This isn't Zemo's great escape from captivity. No, this is a man who is reacting due to old trauma and T'Challa wants to talk to someone on how to deal with it before catching up with Zemo again. 

T'Challa forces himself to focus. “Is everybody alright? Are there anyone hurt? I want to know what happened here.”

-

The next day, T'Challa lands the aircraft on a small field in Sokovia. He steps out onto the grass, cross a small road and then enters through the gate to the small cemetery there.  
Zemo is standing in front of his family's grave. He doesn't glance over, but waits patiently as the king of Wakanda walks over to him.

For a moment they stand in silence, side by side, both looking at the gravestone. Finally Zemo speaks. “I'm sorry. For punching you. For leaving.” 

T'Challa nods. “Apology accepted.”

“What happens now?” Zemo asks. He sounds and looks exhausted. Defeated.

“Now,” T'Challa says, “I suggest we board the plane and head back home. Or do you need more time?”

Zemo shakes his head, despite how his eyes dwell on the gravestone, as if memorizing everything about it. Then he turns away and leaves without looking back.  
They walk towards the plane. Zemo clearly expects the Dora Milaje there, expects Okoye and what he thinks are well deserved looks of disgust, but T'Challa explains that he came alone.  
“Reckless.” Zemo declares, but without ire.

T'Challa doesn't argue. Okoye had used the exact same word. They enter the aircraft, claim their separate seats in the cockpit to start their journey back to Wakanda. 

“And you are... unhurt?” Zemo asks quietly as the plane lifts from the ground. He stares firmly ahead, pretending to pay attention to the horizon.

“I am. The suit kept me safe from the debris. Not a scratch on me.” T'Challa confirms and it seems to reassure the other man enough for him to finally relax in his seat. “There was a gas-leak. And some genius threw a cigarette.”  
Zemo nods thoughtfully, remembering the odd smell. “Did anybody...?”  
“No.” T'Challa reassures him on that point as well. “Cuts and bruises and the fright of a lifetime, that's all.”

Silence settles between them and it is a long flight home. It takes thirty minutes before Zemo sags a little in his seat.  
Two minutes after that, Zemo is asleep in the co-pilot seat. 

T'Challa is a little impressed that Zemo made it back to Sokovia in such a short time, but the man is nothing if not resourceful. Still, T'Challa can also see he's completely worn down after what happened. Zemo's injured hands are sloppily wrapped in dirty makeshift bandages, his clothes are rumpled and dark stubble is prominent against his pale skin.  
The collar is still on, has remained online since he fled and he's clearly made no attempt to remove it. (Proving T'Challa right and the others wrong.)

T'Challa considers his options, knows there is a good chance that Okoye will murder him for it, but he decreases the speed on the plane, informs Wakanda by radio that they will be late and lets Zemo rest.

 

When Zemo wakes up, many hours later, he's alone. For a second, he nearly panics but then he realizes the plane is still in the air and he hears sounds from the back of the plane. 

The king of Wakanda looks up when Zemo walks towards where he's sitting by a small fold-down table, reading something and listening to music at a low volume. “You're awake. Good. You should eat or drink something.”

Zemo hasn't done either since the building fell down.  
“No. Thank you.” Zemo stands there, having something to say and not quite sure how to say it, eventually he just bursts out with; “I can't do this.” Be alive. Act like a human being. He thought he could at least serve, but he can't. It's too much. He wants to go back to his cell, to the darkness and the quiet. He wants everything to stop.

“You can do this.” T'Challa disagrees gently.

Zemo shakes his head, lifting a hand to pull it through his hair as it keeps falling into his eyes but pauses when he sees how badly his hand is shaking. He frowns, puzzled. Clenches and opens his bandaged hand, but it's still shaking. “I don't know why it does that. It's been doing that since...” His voice fades and his breath trembles as well. “I can't do this. I can't.” 

“I promise you,” T'Challa gets up, speaking in calm but firm voice, “if you speak to doctor Zahir, there will be a way. She's very skilled. And I will help you.” He reached out to the psychiatrist after the collapsed building had sent Zemo into a panic. He should have done that a long time ago.

Exhaling a shaky laugh that is no laugh at all, more a tortured sound, Zemo shakes his head again. 

“I know it seems impossible now,” T'Challa says, reaching out to take a hold of his shoulder, making him meet his eyes, “but I promise you that there are ways to help you. Your grief won't go away, but you can learn how to deal with it. Like I did.”

“You didn't do what I did.”  
“I came close. I was so focused on taking Barnes' life as revenge that I didn't care about anything else. I let anger and grief consume me.”  
“But you didn't take my life.”

T'Challa gives a faint smile. “I didn't keep you alive merely out of the goodness of my heart. No, I wanted you alive so you could suffer.”

Now it is Zemo's turn at a smile, but it is a twisted and cold thing. “You got your wish.”

“Yes.” T'Challa squeezes his shoulder. “But with time, I learned how to deal with my grief. And now my wish is for you to do the same.”

Zemo doubts he will ever stop hearing his own screams inside his head. When he found his family in the ruins, he couldn't stop screaming. There are times when the screams grows so loud that he can barely breathe. “I was the reason your father died. I placed that bomb knowing people would get hurt, possibly killed, no, most likely killed, and I still did it.” He wants to anger T'Challa, wants him to lash out, needs to feel a pain other than what is ripping him apart inside.

“I know.” T'Challa replies, refusing to take the bait even though the harsh words brings back painful memories.

Zemo makes a frustrated sound, his eyes shining with unshed tears from too many emotions warring inside him, but he merely spins around and heads back to the cockpit and his seat there.  
T'Challa sends a message to doctor Zahir and asks that she starts preparing for her new patient.  
When they finally arrive back in Wakanda, Okoye is not happy with either of them.

-

It's in the middle of the night when T'Challa wakes up to someone entering his room.  
Half-asleep, he is only semi-surprised to discover it is Zemo. This time the man keeps his clothes on, but he walks over to the bed without hesitation on bare feet and climbs in.  
He won't meet T'Challa's eyes.

Not speaking, they fidget and adjust until they are both comfortable; T'Challa on his back and Zemo curled up on his side next to him, facing him but not looking at his face, almost resting his forehead on T'Challa's shoulder. It should probably worry them both how quickly they fall asleep like that.

When Zemo wakes up the next morning, he notes with a faint pang of amusement that T'Challa has turned little spoon on him during the night and they have drifted close enough to actually touch. He is amazed that the guy trusts his father's murderer with his back when most experienced soldiers wouldn't be able to do the same with their partners.

T'Challa feels warm, solid, so very much alive, against him. The thought that he nearly lost him in the explosion makes Zemo inch a little closer to him.  
He feels him breathe, counts every breath, memorizes it in case it stops one day and he needs to remember. He can't remember them breathing, so he will memorize T'Challa's breathing instead.

After a long while, Zemo notices the pulse fluttering under the skin on T'Challa's graceful neck and while he's tempted to place his lips to the skin, he gently brushes his fingertips there instead. Another beautiful evidence of life.  
The touch brings a slight change in T'Challa's breathing which tells Zemo that while the man doesn't move or flinch at all, he is now awake.  
Zemo removes his hand. “Sorry.”

T'Challa still doesn't move, merely mumbles; “S'okay.” He then adds; “You okay?”

“I'm fine.” He replies automatically.

A silence follows Zemo's words, but T'Challa breaks it by stating; “No work today for you.”

That makes Zemo frown, instantly uneasy. “Why?” His hands are healed, thanks to Wakandian technology. He even managed to get some sleep, once he'd sought out T'Challa. He is ready.  
“I want you to see doctor Zahir.“  
There is a brief pause as Zemo processes the surprise and his instant dislike. “Is that an order?”  
“If you need it to be.”

Zemo clenches his jaw, rolls away and sits up on the bed, swinging his feet down to the floor. His fingers dig into the edge of the mattress. He hears and feels T'Challa turning around to look at him, but he keeps his own gaze on the door leading out of the room. 

“Zemo?”

His fingers dig in deeper and the soldier in him forces him to reply. “I will talk to her.”

“Good.” T'Challa's voice sounds wary, not triumphant.

Zemo will do it, he will obey orders, but he doesn't want to. He really, REALLY doesn't want to.  
No more words are exchanged after that. Zemo merely gets up and leaves the room.

-

Doctor Zahir is just as horrible as he feared she would be; polite, sickeningly pleasant and oh so interested in every aspect of him. She's pretty, sleek, has flawless dark skin and clever eyes.  
She does her best to appear harmless, yet her non-threatening facade does not fool Zemo for a moment. 

He recognizes a threat when he sees one.

Zahir tries to convince him he's in control of the conversation, tries to wheedle information out of him, wants to talk about how he feels, but he guards his hurt carefully.  
And he tries to convince her he's doing fine and how this is really not necessary. He plasters on a smile for those first sessions, holds her gaze and firmly ignores how his muscles are aching from the tension in them.

His antipathy towards her only grows when she proves in time to be too damn clever to believe the lies he feeds her. He stops smiling.

T'Challa thinks this will help him, make him better, but it won't. This is a waste of time.  
There is no hope for Zemo, his family is gone, he has no purpose in this life beyond T'Challa's safety, and no foolish doctor will change that.

T'Challa can force him to go to her office, but he can't force him to tell the truth or accept the treatment she suggests.  
Zemo just wishes he knew why he's so scared every time he has to enter her office.

-

Three days after his first dreaded introduction to Zahir, Zemo finds himself with a king of Wakanda who is clearly pleased with something and tells him there is a surprise waiting for him in his room.  
That doesn't sound good. And he's right.

Zemo steps into the room, but freezes at the sight of what is waiting for him there. “What is that?”

“You can't tell?” T'Challa asks from where he stands behind him.

“Okay, let me re-phrase my question. _Why_ is that here?”  
On the floor, sitting and staring at them, is what looks like an ugly, ungainly dog, something Zemo quickly realizes is actually a juvenile spotted hyena.

“Hyenas often have twins, but unless food is bountiful; siblings of the same gender fight until one of them ends up dead. This one got rescued by one of our game keepers and was hand-raised, but that, plus one of the injuries, unfortunately means she can't be released into the wild.” T'Challa says.

“You still won't answer my question.”  
“I was thinking you could take care of her.”  
Zemo stares back at him over his shoulder with his trademark blank expression. Surely this is a joke? A hyena for the Royal Hyena. Some new prank, probably initiated by Shuri, or someone else who wants to have a laugh at Zemo's expense. He doesn't care that they laugh at him, but he wants that hairy, whiny thing out of his room. “This is a joke.”

“No joke.” T'Challa assures him, patting his shoulder. “Her name is Anathi. Feeding instructions are on your desk. I have faith in you.” And with that, he walks out of the room.

Zemo is left to stare at the door for a long while in utter disbelief, until something is attacking his leg and he looks down to find the hyena doing her very best to simultaneously bite, growl and a rather inelegant forward roll, all without releasing the fabric of his pants.

Oh this **has** to be a joke.

Refusing to acknowledge the hyena's presence, Zemo frees himself, marches over to his desk and starts working on his projects. He figures whomever has conjured up this so-not-funny prank will eventually appear and get that animal out of his room.  
It is a sound plan and it works. For a while. Until his concentration is broken by the sound of trickling water.

Water?

Zemo snaps his eyes up from his datapad just in time to see the little beast of a hyena straightening from where she's just peed on the floor.  
Disbelief keeps him frozen for several seconds, his brain refusing to believe what he's seeing, but then the hyena trots over to sniff at his bed and Zemo jumps to his feet. “Back away from the bed. Now.”

The hyena stares at him, mouth halfway open and there is a whole bunch of teeth in there, and he can see in her eyes that she's wondering if he is someone to be respected or not.

Zemo holds her gaze.  
One second pass. Two. And then she slowly backs away.

Zemo stares at her for a little while longer, making his point, and when he feels she's at a safe distance from his bed, he turns his attention back to the puddle on the floor.  
Great.

He resigns himself to his fate. Zemo marches towards the hyena to hover over her, unconsciously falling into his old military voice. “If you are staying here, we're going to have some ground rules.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa faces temptation and Zemo meets a couple of old enemies.

[](https://ibb.co/k4YyZqq)   


As time passes by, Zemo is forced to Zahir's office at a regular basis, but he talks as little as possible. At one point she starts rambling about something called 'coping mechanisms' and 'grounding techniques' that she wants him to try, but he drily informs her that he'd cope a lot better if he wasn't forced into talking to her. She then suggests he starts writing a journal and he knows she has no idea what she's talking about. The woman is clearly insane. Maybe she should seek out professional help?

The second the designated time is up, Zemo can't leave her office fast enough. He prefers handling his semi-feral hyena to talking to her.

Which is saying a lot, as it turns out that it's not easy to train a damn hyena. He discovers that on certain areas hyenas are very different from dogs, especially when it comes to patience and motivation, but luckily she's still fairly easy to house-train. She gets her own bed at the opposite side of the room from his, as well as her own outdoors enclosure to keep her safe from angry farmers and other predators when Zemo is busy.

(He firmly ignores T'Challa's smugness as he inquires about the creature's health and progress.)

Zemo quickly learns that he has to be alert when he's around her. Anathi is not stupid and like him; she is mean if given the chance. That particular lesson nearly cost him two fingers. (And earns her his grudging respect and even a little fondness.)  
His mornings are now a series of new routines and one of them is taking Anathi outside to burn off energy. His mind is almost calm when he runs over the plains and she trots either in front of him, or behind him, or in circles around him -occasionally even ambling next to him- whatever she feels like doing that particular day.

They usually rest by the river, and one day Zemo watches as she clamps her jaws around a massive stick and shatters it like its nothing.

He throws her another stick and she does the same thing, wagging her short tail with excitement.  
Those are some powerful jaws. Far more dangerous than any dog. And it's utterly fascinating to watch how effortlessly she breaks those sticks. He does enjoy the sight of her destroying things.

Zemo throws her one more stick before they start their run back. He must be getting in shape because he's back a lot faster than when he began running with her.  
He lets Anathi into her enclosure and locks the gate. A shower is definitely calling his name.

After that, on his way to meet T'Challa, he encounters two women he instantly recognizes from the gaggle who had been hunting T'Challa on behalf of their daughters, and he replies to their inquiries about the king's whereabouts with a fake politeness and lies.

Once they move down the hall and out of sight, heading for where Zemo claimed T'Challa was, he walks over and leans against the wall next to the closest closet. He waits until the door creaks open.

T'Challa peers out at him. “I'm not sure whether I'm impressed by your skills at lying so smoothly or worried.”

Zemo shrugs. “I think you should focus on the fact that we are going to be late.” He straightens and looks at his watch. “The plane has to leave in five minutes. The opening ceremony starts in two hours.”  
Sighing, T'Challa steps out of the closet, but not without throwing a nervous glance around in case some other matriarch would appear. “I hate these things. I hate giving speeches.”  
“I've heard you give speeches. You're pretty good.” Zemo gestures for him to lead the way towards the plane and he does. “If you don't want to do it, you can say no. You are the king.”

“I'm told I have to do these things **because** I'm the king.” T'Challa isn't exactly sounding like he's sulking, but he's dangerously close.

“We all have jobs to do.” Zemo says.  
Clearly feeling a sting of guilt, T'Challa sighs. “You don't have to come.”  
“It's okay.”  
“I mean it.”  
“I assumed you did.”

That actually brings forth a faint laugh from T'Challa. “Fine. We'll both go.” He glances over at Zemo with something mild in his eyes. “Thank you.”

Zemo finds he has no clever answer to that, he knows how to handle contempt and orders, not this, so he only nods awkwardly and walks on.

-

It's during their private training sessions that T'Challa finds trouble. When they are riled up on adrenaline and endorphins and testosterone, when they are sweaty and breathing hard, that's when he finds himself battling temptation more than once.

There comes a moment, when he has Zemo pinned against the wall, when T'Challa nearly breaks. He wants to kiss him. He wants to put his hands all over him. He wants to hear that soft gasp again. He wants to see him feel alive.

But, instead of acting on the impulse, T'Challa moves to push himself away. He is surprised by Zemo taking a hold of his shirt and pulling him back in.  
Zemo appears calm, his face is as enigmatic as ever, devoid of feeling.  
T'Challa frowns a little. He senses what Zemo is offering and he hates how eagerly his own body reacts to it. Apparently even a king isn't above instinctive reactions. “Why?”

“You want this.” Zemo says simply. “And I don't mind.”

That brings a resigned smile to T'Challa's face and cools his blood. “That's not enough for me.” He pushes himself away again and takes up his battle stance. “Come. We still have thirty minutes left.”

It's bizarre how he's grown close to this man, become surprisingly drawn to him, someone who caused him so much pain, but maybe that's what makes this bond so strong?

Everything would have been simpler if Zemo had been a stereotypical villain and not someone driven beyond reason by devastating grief morphing into soul-devouring rage.  
T'Challa had briefly tasted the desire for revenge and he knew how easy it could be to lose oneself in it. He had eventually learned that he had the strength to not give in to the hatred, but innocent people could have been hurt in his hunt for Barnes and for a while; he had not cared, at all, and that was not the son T'Chaka had raised with wisdom and kindness.

It frightens T'Challa to think that maybe, if he'd grown up under the harsh conditions in Sokovia, if he had been drilled by the army to become numb to atrocities, if he too had lost his entire family, he might not have had that strength. He likes to think he would have, but he doesn't know, and that is an unsettling thought.

Back in the present moment, Zemo doesn't appear to be offended by T'Challa declining his offer, but T'Challa orders himself to never let his wants shine through like that again. Just because you want something, it doesn't mean you automatically get to have it, especially if you aimed to be not only a good man but a good king.  
He wants to make T'Chaka proud.

It would just have been a hell of a lot easier if Zemo didn't look so good all sweaty and sharply focused!

It takes all the will-power he possesses, but T'Challa somehow manages to keep his hands and his wants to himself during their next training sessions.  
Zemo sends him a thoughtful look, but doesn't comment on it.

-

A couple of days later, on his way to his office, T'Challa is dreading the day's workload when someone requires his attention.  
“Brother. A word?” Shuri calls out as he is about to walk by her lab.  
He instantly makes a turn and heads in to see what is on her mind. If Shuri wants a word, it's usually important. “What's wrong?” Something important is nine out of ten times something wrong. He just hopes it isn't something too bad.

She moves over to her work station. “I need to show you something.” Pulling up files on the hovering screen, Shuri shifts her weight uneasily. “Our residential crazy person came by earlier. I had to glue his hand back together.”

On the screen, T'Challa finds himself looking at a picture of Zemo's hand; viciously torn up and covered with blood. He frowns, knowing it is only Shuri's technology that saved Zemo from nerve damage after these kind of deep and vicious lacerations. He can even see bone where a flap of skin is peeled back. His initial thought of a hyena bite is quickly quelled. The cuts are too clean. No crushing damage. “What happened?”

Shuri swipes a second picture onto the screen, showing more of the horrible injury. “He wouldn't say.” A third picture. “But I heard from one of the guards that he punched it through the window in Zahir's office.”

T'Challa watches as the screen now shows the healing of Zemo's hand. “I will talk to her. Something must have happened.”

“Tell her to consider a straightjacket on him next time he visits.” Shuri shuts down the screen. “It will save me time and her windows.” She hesitates before adding; “I can heal his hand, but what if his mind cannot be healed?”

“I don't think he will ever be fully healed.” T'Challa admits. The man has lost too much. The despair when he searched through the ruins and the devastating grief when he found their broken bodies has shattered something inside him beyond repair, but that doesn't mean there is nothing worth saving in him. “But I also think he still has a role to play in this life.”

“I admit, there are days when he's almost... nice, disregarding that he is a homicidal maniac,” Shuri says, a little haltingly, “but, brother, you have to remember; he is not your responsibility.”

“I made him mine.” T'Challa states. There is no way he can turn his back on him now. Not after everything. Not now that he has seen the man behind the grief and the madness.

“You need a new hobby, that's what you need.” Shuri declares, turning her back to him and begins working on something else, showing T'Challa that the conversation was now over.

-

A couple of hours later, T'Challa is trying to sort through a whole bunch of applications from businesses who wants to branch out to Wakanda now that they know of its existence. That makes the arrival of doctor Zahir a very welcome distraction.  
She is lead inside his office by two guards and T'Challa leans back in his chair to greet her, keeping his tone neutral but also friendly.  
“Doctor Zahir. You can probably guess why I asked to speak with you.”

She gives him a respectful bow, but there is a faint distance in her smile. “I can. But I also think you can guess that there is a lot I cannot talk about.” No matter how Zemo had informed her during their first session that she had his consent to tell T'Challa everything as he had nothing to hide.

“I'm not going to insult you by asking you to tell me his every word.” T'Challa gestures for her to take a seat and she does. “But considering the fact that he emerged from your office with a hand mangled to the point where I could see bone, I was hoping you could give me something.”

Zahir considers her words for a little while, then she speaks. “We all experience grief in our lives. The loss of your father was painful to all of us, but nothing compared to the grief you felt as a son. You personally know how hard it is to deal with such a traumatic event.” She sees T'Challa tense up and continues before he can berate her for becoming too personal. “You faced your grief, accepted your loss, and was able to move beyond it. Zemo has never left the moment when he lost his family. He's built his entire world around that moment. Considering that he spent two days digging through rubble and what he found there, I'm not surprised he's barely functional.”

“What happened to his hand?”

“He's very reluctant to talk about anything in our sessions, anything at all, so when I raised the subject of his family and dared to suggest that what happened had not been his fault...” She gives a tense smile. “He punched his hand through my window to shut me up.”

T'Challa frowns. “In your opinion, is he dangerous to others?”

That makes Zahir raise an eyebrow in wry amusement. “You are capable of killing a man with your bare hands, my king. Doesn't that make you dangerous?”

“I have a responsibility to my subjects. I need to know if I'm exposing them to a threat.” T'Challa points out, close to regretting having asked to talk to this woman. He's not sure if he wants to hear what she has to say on the subject of Zemo.

Zahir considers her words again and leans back in her chair. “You know he's self-destructive. You told me as much when you asked me to see him. Right now I'd say he's far more prone to self-harm than anything else, he doesn't have any grudges against anyone here, but Helmut Zemo is unstable. There are no guarantees what the future will bring.” 

“How can I hasten the process? What can I do, other than what you told me before?”

“You can't.” Zahir shakes her head a little. “He has to do the work himself. He has to want this.”

T'Challa nods thoughtfully. Her words unsettles him. Not because he actually believes Zemo will lash out and harm random subjects, no, the guilt over the bomb is too strong for that, and Zemo wouldn't attack without a reason to, but T'Challa fears that he is running out of time to get the light back in the man's eyes.  
One day Zemo will welcome death once again and T'Challa might not be there to stop him.

-

Zemo frowns as T'Challa is acting strange one morning and he even cancels their training without an explanation. Something is going to happen that day, something that makes T'Challa anxious, but no one will tell Zemo what it is. He only discovers the reason for T'Challa's unease when he accidentally ends up face to face with it.  
He turns one corner and stares directly at Steve Rogers, and one step behind him; Bucky Barnes.

Rogers appears as startled to see Zemo as Zemo is angry at seeing them. “Zemo.”

“Captain.” Zemo says, somehow managing to keep the loathing out of his voice. They are T'Challa's guests, after all. “What brings you here?”

Steve absently gestures towards Bucky, but doesn't take his eyes off Zemo. He's trying to read him, trying to decide if this is the man who had torn the Avengers apart or if T'Challa has somehow managed to tame him. Them working together against Thanos had made it difficult for Steve whether to label Zemo as incurably evil or someone who could be rescued. “Shuri. She wants to have a look at Bucky's arm.”

Barnes' eyes is somewhat hidden behind his hair, but he is watching Zemo warily. Less inclined to believe in miracles and the redemption of Zemo. He's clearly the smarter of the two.

Zemo sees the hope in Steve Rogers' face and he can't stand it. Anger burns sour in his throat.“Shuri. Quite the miracle worker. I understand she was the one who broke the Hydra imprint in Barnes?”

That makes both Rogers and Barnes tense up, but Steve is the one who replies cautiously; “That's right.”

Humming thoughtfully, deceptively calm and pleasant, Zemo glances over at Barnes. “Are you sure?”  
“What...” Steve begins, but Zemo cuts him off.  
His Russian is bad, but he remembers the words. _”Longing.”_

Steve Rogers pales but Barnes actually recoils with fear.  
_”Rusted.”_  
Steve moves with lightning speed. Zemo doesn't see it coming but he certainly feels it when the hand goes around his throat and he is slammed back against the wall and held there.

Zemo would have continued listing the words if not for how Rogers' hand is cutting off his oxygen and silencing him with brute force. A furious Captain America is a frightening sight, but it makes Zemo sneer a smile and he dares him to finish the job and kill him.  
“Don't.” Steve warns him. And he means it. He may be the poster boy for good behavior, but he will do whatever it takes to protect his loved ones without hesitation.

In the background, Barnes has a hand to his head and drawing shivering breaths. He is wide-eyed, shocked, and looks ready to flee from the threat of Zemo's words at any moment; ready to punch his way through whatever and whomever unfortunate enough to get in his way.  
For all that he is a good man, Barnes knows he is also a lethal weapon in the wrong hands.

Zemo makes no effort to free himself. He glares and keeps glaring even as the fingers tighten around his throat. There is a flutter of triumph mixed with his growing need for air.  
Imagine Captain America killing an unarmed man? That's bound to burn within the blond until the end of days. 

“That's enough.” T'Challa's voice breaks through the red haze. He walks over to them and when neither of them moves, raises his voice a little. “I said; that's enough.”

Steve reluctantly releases Zemo and backs up a step.

Zemo can't stop himself from coughing when he can finally breathe again, but the second he has his breath back, he straightens to start listing the words again. _”Lon-_  
T'Challa steps between him and Rogers and gives Zemo a firm stare. “No.”

Frustrated, Zemo is dangerously tempted to defy him, he really wants to, but the soldier in him is now too strong and he relents with a faint curl of his upper lip like a dog about to bare its teeth.

T'Challa gestures towards the exit. “Go.”

Zemo takes one step, he sends a final glare towards Steve Rogers and the fear-aggressive Bucky Barnes, now only held back by Rogers' light touch to his arm, then stalks away, clenching his hands into tight fists and gritting his teeth to keep himself quiet.

 

A good thirty minutes later, a lone Zemo is unleashing his frustration on a punching bag in his preferred training room. He hears the footsteps of someone entering the room. Expecting it to be T'Challa who has come to reprimand him for the stunt he pulled on his guests, Zemo keeps his eyes fixated on the punching bag and continues to beat the ever living stuffing out of it while knowing he would do it again if given the chance.

“T'Challa said I could find you here.” That is the voice of Captain America himself.

Zemo freezes up, not quite believing his own ears and momentarily uncertain of how to deal with it, but after the slight hesitation he merely continues punching at the bag. He's already breathing hard and sweat is running into his eyes, but its either that or punching Rogers and something tells him that T'Challa would frown upon that and he's already in enough trouble with him.

Steve clears his throat. “We're leaving. Bucky's arm checks out and while T'Challa wanted us to stay for dinner, I think it might be best if we keep you and Buck apart. Like, on different continents.” He tries at a weak laugh at his own cleverness and fails. “Listen, I just wanted to say...”  
“Say what?” Zemo interrupts, turning abruptly to face him and hopefully provoke him into something. “What great lectures does the great Captain America have to give for this particular situation? I'm afraid your little detention speeches you gave at schools failed to reform me.”

Steve looks a little awkward at that, but he rallies quickly enough. “You got innocent people killed, Zemo.”

“So did you.” Zemo states, his voice hard with barely restrained rage. “My father. My wife. **My son** was one of them!”

That makes Rogers look down at the floor for a moment, nodding. “Some things cannot be forgiven, are beyond forgiveness, like what happened to your family. I understand that. I am truly sorry for your loss.”  
There is a little green in the blue of his eyes, yes, but also pained empathy. Steve Rogers probably has hundreds of speeches on how grief is no valid reason to cause others pain or more death, but he is too kind to use them against someone who is already down and broken.

Zemo wants to hate him even more for it, but what will that achieve? He already hates the man so much he can barely breathe in his presence and achieving his goal had not taken Zemo's pain away.  
Back then, Zemo had decided that revenge would have to do when justice was impossible. He broke up the Avengers, he watched them hurt each other and tasted their pain like fine wine, but in the end; it changed nothing. His family was still gone, his heart was still shattered, and no amount of vengeance will ever undo that.

After a whole year of living and breathing the Avengers, Zemo knows Steve Rogers' every weak spot, knows exactly where to strike to hurt him the most, and yet, he suspects that even killing Bucky and watching Steve Rogers scream in agonized loss won't change how Zemo feels. 

It's pointless.  
His fists slowly unclench.

When there is no reply from Zemo, Steve continues. “I hear you are working in several outreach programs for at-risk children. That's good.”

Of course he thinks that is good. The golden boy Steve Rogers, Zemo knows, still wants to believe in redemption and happy endings. Such a fool. “What do you want from me?” Zemo asks, just wanting him gone.

“I'm glad you're doing better, that you are helping others instead of just sitting in a cell,” Rogers says, “and I hope you won't break T'Challa's trust in you. He's a good man.” He turns to leave. “Don't you ever use those words on Bucky again. This is your one and only warning.”

Zemo merely stares after him as Steve Rogers walks away.  
  
Alone once more, surrounded by deafening quiet, Zemo closes his eyes and feels **exhausted** beyond words.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa has a rude guest. Zemo has to make a choice, but is it too late?

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

About one hour after Rogers' departure, Zemo is heading up to his personal quarters, aiming for a shower, when he sees T'Challa walking down the hallway towards him.  
“There you are.” T'Challa says, and strangely enough doesn't sound angry. He approaches Zemo and there is a failed attempt at discretely scanning Zemo's form, probably looking for bruises or other signs of Captain America pummeling him, before he drops all effort at being subtle and asks; “Are you okay?”

Zemo automatically gives him the only answer he has to that question. “Yes.” He doesn't allow himself to consider whether he's telling the truth or not.

T'Challa doesn't look overly convinced, but clearly decides to let it go. “Good. Then I have a task for you. In forty minutes, a visitor will arrive for a business meeting with me, but I have to go and wrap up something else first. I need you to join Okoye and the others by the landing platform and meet this man, bring him to my office and I will join you as fast as I can.”

Zemo nods. “Understood.”

“Excellent.” T'Challa says and then continues down the hallway and disappears around a corner.

Happily locking on his new mission, Zemo takes a quick shower, gets dressed and spends a little time with Anathi before bringing her out to her enclosure, then he joins Okoye and some royal guards by the landing ramp. He doesn't look at any of them and none of them look at him.

The guest arrives five minutes late in a very expensive looking ship. He's wearing an expensive looking suit and his teeth are bleached to the point where Zemo suspects they would glow in the dark.  
Stepping forward to greet him, Zemo buries his instant dislike and gestures towards the entrance. “King T'Challa will be with you shortly. If you will come this way, we will bring you to his office.”

The man gives him his bleached smile. “Very well.”

Zemo goes first, Okoye next, the guest follows and the guards tails behind them. Luckily there is no attempt at small-talk on the way to the office, but Zemo catches glimpses of the man looking around with greedy approval. As rich as this guy is, or at least pretends to be, he still wants more. Why would T'Challa want to do business with a shark like this?  
Arriving at the office, Zemo steps inside with the guest and Okoye, while the guards takes up positions outside the door.

“As I said,” Zemo says, “he will be with you shortly. If there is anything you require while you wait, let us know.”

The man turns his attention from the luxurious room to Zemo and the smile returns. “You are him, aren't you?”

Zemo frowns, but before he can answer the man reaches out with one hand and takes a hold of his jaw, turning his face a little from side to side, studying him with the same greed he used for the inventory. “I'm thrilled he would actually bring me the Royal Hyena. Some people are more reluctant to share their pets.”  
Zemo feels a little at loss of how to react or what to do. He has not received orders to obey this one, but is it expected of him? Is this the punishment for what happened with Rogers and Barnes?

There is a sharp sound that startles him; Okoye smacks the man over the fingers with the blunt end of her spear, at lightening speed and close enough for the weapon to barely brush by Zemo's skin.  
The man yelps and jumps away, cradling his hand, but Okoye isn't looking at him. She's glaring at Zemo and that confuses him even more.  
“You are the property of the king of Wakanda.” Okoye states, quiet enough for the guest not to hear her and with enough resentment for Zemo not to think she did it for his sake. “He does not get to put his hands on that.”

Zemo nods. Message received.

 

The visitor is luckily smart enough not to challenge Okoye and merely cradles his hand in a sulking silence until the door opens and T'Challa enters. Then he's all smiles and sleazy charm and the slight appears forgiven and forgotten.

T'Challa is not thrilled about having the man there, so he tries to finish up the business as quickly as possible. If not for the man sitting on the only legal option for T'Challa to buy a piece of land he wants for one of his projects, T'Challa wouldn't have gone near him. He tried sending envoys, but it seemed like the price to pay for the property was an audience in addition to money.  
Life had been easier as Prince T'Challa, because King T'Challa had to consider what would benefit his people instead of acting on his personal dislike for a person.

Expertly dodging other business suggestions and attempts at friendship from his visitor, T'Challa exhales relieved when the clearly annoyed man finally signs the papers and can be ushered out of there.

Okoye makes no effort to hide her disgust when she observes him leaving the room. “I understand things have to change now that we've opened Wakanda to the world, but I am starting to wonder if Thanos was not the worst.”

T'Challa exhales a faint laugh and nods. He looks through the papers one final time, just be sure, and when they still appear to be in order, he glances up and realizes someone is missing. Frowning, he gets up. “Where is Zemo?”

Okoye isn't flooded with concern. “Maybe he went back to play with the other hyena.”

Taking the time to send her an annoyed glance, T'Challa activates the hovering computer screen and pulls up the surveillance. He's not sure why, but something is making him uneasy and he wants to make sure his reluctantly invited guest is actually leaving.  
He sees the ship's doors close and the plane starts up its engines but T'Challa still feels that something is wrong.  
Rewinding the footage, he sees why.

On the video feed, the man walks towards his plane and next to him is Zemo. One hand is almost resting on Zemo's lower back and when T'Challa zooms in on it, there is a faint glimmer of metal.  
Clearly the deal hadn't been closed as smoothly as T'Challa had hoped after all.

“Stop that plane from leaving.” T'Challa orders. He and Okoye starts running towards where the plane had landed earlier.  
“It's too late, my king.” One of the guards reply over the radio. “It is in the air.”  
Arriving at the ramp, seeing the plane high up in the sky, T'Challa considers closing the barrier when the plane visibly wobbles.

“What is happening?” Another guard asks.

T'Challa has no idea, but he has his suspicions as the plane gives one final shudder, then turns and heads back to the landing ramp. Still, he only relaxes after the plane lands, the door opens and Zemo comes walking out and doesn't stop until he stands before his king.

“They're not dead. Just knocked them out.” Zemo says. Then adds with a touch of uncertainty; “Unless I was meant to go with him?”

T'Challa grasps his shoulders to underline his point. “If you think I would approve of this kind of behavior towards you or anyone else in my service, then I have failed like I have never failed before.”

Zemo exhales, relaxes a little in a rare display of relief, before he quickly regains his neutral face. “I think I broke his nose.”

“Good.” T'Challa smiles, then he releases him and gestures to the guards to deal with the ones inside the plane. “But letting him drag you on board that plane was risky. You should have said something.”

“It was easier to contain the situation on board the plane.” Zemo says. “You were safer with him and his crew on that plane, and no one else would get hurt this way.”

“You could have gotten hurt.” T'Challa points out. And when there is no reaction to it, the Sokovian clearly doesn't see why that should be a problem, he sighs and steps closer to Zemo. “I don't want to see you hurt. Understand?”

Looking into Zemo's conflicted eyes, T'Challa can see a thousand thoughts and feelings rush through them, before, for the very first time, the Sokovian breaks and flicks his gaze down to the ground.  
“I... understand.” Zemo mumbles.

But it's clear by the sound of his voice; he doesn't. Not yet. 

-

When Zemo first wakes up, it is still dark outside and he feels something solid and warm curled up behind him. He hazily wonders if T'Challa somehow managed to sneak into his room during the night and get into bed with him without him even noticing, but a glance over his shoulder reveals it to be someone else. Someone much hairer.

Grunting annoyed, Zemo slumps back into the pillow and realizes there is a faint, tell-tale smell as well. “You're not allowed in my bed. You know that.”

Anathi doesn't care. She doesn't lift her head or even open her eyes when he speaks.  
He doesn't kick her out. She's hairy and smelly, but she's sturdy, warm and trusting. Her regular breathing lulls him back to sleep.

The next time Zemo wakes up, it is time to get out of bed and start the day, even if it is disgustingly early. He knows he has to take Anathi for a run and feed her, before starting to work on his projects. T'Challa had returned late that previous evening so there would be no training today and separate breakfasts. He takes studious care not to dwell on the faint lump of disappointment at that knowledge.

No more than two seconds after Zemo is up on his feet there is a snuffling and snorting sound behind him and Zemo turns to the sight of Anathi having moved over to where he'd been sleeping and she is currently rolling around in the residual heat and his scent.  
Lifting an eyebrow, not thrilled at the sight, Zemo warns her; “This is not going to become a habit, you hear? You got your own damn bed. And you stink.”

The hyena ignores him and is trying to burrow her head into the mattress.

Zemo gives up and heads towards the bathroom.

He then has his breakfast and later passes by Shuri in the hallway on his way to take Anathi for her run. She is in the company of two other researchers. Shuri actually nods a faint greeting his way when they pass each other. He hears her fading voice explain to her companions as they disappear through a doorway that Zemo is her “scrap-cousin”, that he had been found in the trash when he was a baby and the melanin-deprived bundle had then been adopted by her family as an act of compassion. 

Zemo has several conflicting feelings about her statement, but he can't linger on it as Anathi giggles with anticipation of roaming the plains and he shifts his focus her way to make sure she doesn't eat anyone on the way out of the building. A geared up hyena is a dangerous hyena.

He runs hard that morning, pushes himself, because it is a lovely morning, because Wakanda is beautiful and simply because he can. It feels good, even the ache in his muscles and the sweat soaking his skin. The quiet is glorious. The only sounds he can hear are distant birds, his running steps, his ragged breathing and Anathi's panting.

He gets back to the safety of the city just in time to dodge when the heat of the morning sun really sets in, guides the panting Anathi to her enclosure and locks the gates while she pads off to dunk her entire body in the small pool available to her. Zemo scoffs good humorously. “Wimp.”

The hyena ignores him with ease and splashes a bit before lying down in the cool water with a content sigh.

Zemo enters the building, relaxed in the knowledge that he has plenty time to shower and get presentable before he is scheduled to leave for his project. Marching towards his room, he notes the looks the guards sends his way. He's drenched in sweat, covered in layers of dust and his hair is poking up at all angles, but luckily their opinion of him doesn't matter to Zemo. Let them stare.  
He does cringe a little inside when he passes the breakfast room and hears T'Challa calling his name. Zemo has to force himself to stop, turn and stick just his head inside the room. “Yes?”

T'Challa gestures him inside and Zemo obeys with a resigned sigh. He stands to attention next to the table where the king is having his breakfast.

Predictably, T'Challa grins at the sight. “Nice run?”

Zemo nods. It takes all of his will-power to keep himself from reaching up and at least try to pat down his hair into a semblance of order.  
“I won't keep you long.” T'Challa assures him, still obviously amused at the ruffled appearance of the otherwise so fanatically neat man. “I wanted to inform you that I have to leave for a meeting at nine. You wrote in your report about another site for a possible project? Some old factories?”  
Zemo nods again.  
“That address is nearby my meeting. I thought maybe you could join me in the car and I could drop you off?”  
“As you wish.”

T'Challa nods and waves him away. Zemo turns and heads for the door, but T'Challa's voice makes him pause in the doorway.  
“I'm glad to see you're doing better. You look good.”

Zemo doesn't move, frowning as he scans for the sarcasm in the voice and frowns even deeper when he finds none. He glances back at T'Challa, but he's busy devouring his breakfast and shows no sign of having just delivered a hilarious joke. Zemo leaves with a strange feeling in his chest.

Returning to his room, Zemo sheds his clothes and enters the shower. It feels good to rinse off sweat and dust, so good that he's actually a little reluctant to leave his little safe haven, but eventually he turns off the water and steps out. Drying himself, he then wraps a towel around his waist and moves over to the mirror. It's completely fogged up due to the hot water. 

Wiping away the fog, he sees his reflection staring back at him and for a moment Zemo studies himself. He sees the same face he's always seen, but there are some changes to how he looks. From what he can see of his torso and upper arms, he's more fit than he's ever been before. He no longer appears gaunt and sleep-deprived. Hell, Zemo is verging on being tanned after all the hours he's spent outside in the sun with Anathi. He needs a haircut though.  
Zemo concludes that he doesn't look good, but he looks better, definitely better than when he'd been released from his cell below, and there is a hard stab of guilt in his chest.

He turns away from the mirror.

-

At 9 am, the car leaves the building and Zemo is staring absently out the window. He can feel T'Challa is looking at him and after a while, Zemo glances back at him and gives him his attention.  
They talk a bit about the different projects, about their training and T'Challa complains about Shuri blackmailing him with some footage of a test with the Black Panther suit gone wrong. A distant voice at the back of Zemo's mind tries to point out that maybe the conversation flows a little too easily, that he's not meant to actually enjoy this, but he decides to ignore it.

They end up losing track of time so they're both a little surprised when they suddenly arrive at their destination and the car stops where Zemo will part ways with the king.

“Are you sure you don't want any guards with you?” T'Challa asks as Zemo gets out of the car.

Knowing they'd rather be eaten alive by Anathi than be stuck alone with him, Zemo assures him there is no need. “I'll be fine. Go, or you'll be late and they will blame me.”

T'Challa grunts, reluctant to go. “You got your radio?”

Zemo taps the left side-pocket on his pants where he can feel the shape of the radio against his thigh. “I'll call in the second I'm done. Bhekani is only ten minutes away and he'll pick me up. Go.” He closes the door before T'Challa can come with more arguments, clearly trying to postpone having to go to the conference for as long as humanly possible, and Zemo turns to look at the area. There are three abandoned and run-down buildings. Two factories and some sort of warehouse.

The warehouse, which is closest to him, seems to be built from some strange material. He makes a mental note to have the material checked out and doesn't even notice the car driving away.

Pulling out his notepad, he prefers writing stuff down (paper can be destroyed to leave no trace) to storing the information on his datapad (to Shuri's great frustration), Zemo walks closer to the buildings and jots down his observations. He spends some time on the outside area, calculating costs and the complications that might follow turning this dump into something useful. Only once he's done doing that does he focus on the warehouse itself, leaving the two factories for last.

Stepping inside the building, he is once again puzzled by the material used for building it. It doesn't really look like anything he's ever seen before.  
It distracts him for long enough for him to be standing in the middle of the huge, empty warehouse, making his notes, before he realizes that he's not alone.

Carefully sliding his notebook into the pocket of his jacket, Zemo then slowly lifts his gaze up to the iron gangway up under the ceiling and can make out at least two dark figures standing there. 

“Colonel Zemo.” The one to the left says. “We have been trying to reach you for a while now.” It sounds like a man and he's speaking in Sokovian. 

Frowning, wary but not afraid, Zemo doesn't reply, forcing the stranger to continue with his speech.

“We want you to come with us. The government in Sokovia has weakened even further, it is ripe for a take-over, and with the Colonel from EKO Scorpion on our side; we can do it. The time has finally come. We have the men and the weapons, but we need someone to lead them.”

Zemo doesn't blink or hesitate. “No.”

There is a second of silence, as if they were struggling to understand the simple answer or stunned by his bluntness, but then the guy on the left speaks again. “Colonel Zemo, I'm not sure you understand; this is our chance. We can have our revenge on those who disbanded EKO Scorpion, steal their fortunes from under their noses and fix everything they've messed up while they've been running things.”

Zemo is a little amazed, and not in a good way, at the soldier's naivete. The corruption and trouble in Sokovia goes far deeper than merely the government and no military coup would be able to fix that. The only ones who would be able to fix Sokovia are her people and he doubts they are up to the task any time soon. And there is also the minor fact that Zemo has cut all ties to his birthplace.  
“What you are suggesting is stupid as well as pointless.” Zemo replies in Sokovian. “Besides, Sokovia is not my problem anymore. Let it crumble. I don't give a shit.”

This time he can actually see them twitch as his answer surprises and shocks them. It brings him a faint flare of cruel satisfaction.  
“Not a prisoner under king T'Challa then,” the guy on the left growls, tapping his companion on the shoulder, “just a traitor to his country.”  
“Traitor!” The figure next to him spits and pulls out a weapon.

Fuck...

 

The first bullet knocks Zemo off balance, making him stumble backwards, but the second bullet knocks him off his feet and he falls. On his back on the ground, Zemo hears footsteps running away, yet he only registers it with faint interest as most of his senses are busy howling at the pain raging through his body. 

Two bullets, one in the chest, one in the stomach. The one in his gut is a through and through and a growing pool of blood is quickly forming on the floor under him. Looking up at the ceiling, he draws a couple of short, shivering breaths and realizes his wish is coming true.  
Zemo is dying.

He should be relieved. He should be happy that he's finally going to be free of this world.

But, instead, Zemo finds himself wondering if T'Challa will be angry or upset when he finds out. He doesn't want to hurt him again, not even with his death, and he fears it might. Shuri, he has no idea how she'll react, but he is slightly distressed at the knowledge that he has no idea what will happen to Anathi. She needs proper care, someone who understands her temper, someone who respects her boundaries. And then there are his projects. He hopes they'll finish his projects. Zemo knows there are at least two deals which needs to be finalized by the weekend or there would be complications and delays and more people will suffer because of Zemo.

Instead of being filled with anticipation of peace, Zemo gets increasingly distressed. He gulps for air. His fingers twitch.

T'Challa is bound to think this is his fault. He's probably going to feel he failed Zemo somehow, or that he shouldn't have trusted him to be on his own, that Zemo did this on purpose.  
Anathi won't understand why she isn't let out for a run tomorrow.

Pain shudders through Zemo's body and he makes a decision.

He still wants to die. He does. Just... not today. He can't die today.

Zemo reaches for his radio, his hands are trembling even worse than usual, but he finally manages to pull it out and press the Send button. “Bhekani? Do you... read me, Bhekani?”  
Nothing.  
He tries a couple of more times before he realizes that the walls are blocking the signal. Whatever that material is, it's blocking his damn signal. He can't reach anyone from here.

Lowering the radio, Zemo closes his eyes for a moment, tempted to just lie there and finally be free. He tried, right?

But, no, he finds himself opening his eyes again.  
He has to... He can't...

Zemo gathers his strength and rolls over on his side. It hurts. It hurts like hell!  
He forces himself over on his stomach, gets his elbows under himself and tries to push himself up while drawing his knees up; aiming to get on all fours as a start. If he can't walk, he'll crawl out of here.

If fails.

His legs are too weak, his arms are trembling with the effort and he feels cold and dizzy as he sinks back down on his belly. That hurts even more.  
-Blood loss, Zemo absently thinks to himself. -You're losing too much blood.

He tries his radio again, but there is no response.  
He once again considers giving up, but instead he finds himself reaching out, anchoring his lower arms on the concrete floor and dragging himself towards the exit. 

The pool of blood makes it easy to slide across the ground at first.  
When he's out of the pooled blood, it is pure agony as he grates along the concrete, yet Zemo continues to drag himself forward. He keeps his sight on the door and his thoughts on why he can't die just yet.  
Dust and gravel mix with sticky blood and makes a scraping sound as he continues to pull himself towards his goal, and soon Zemo notes that his vision is going gray at the corners and he's making little progress.  
Sweat is dripping from his chin despite how he feels freezing cold, he feels colder than ever before, including his trip to Siberia.

-I'm bleeding out, he concludes with numb, clinical detachment. -Exsanguation.

Every time Zemo pulls himself forward, it feels like he is ripping the bullet holes wider and wider. He doesn't look down or back, partially because he doesn't dare to take his eyes off the exit but mostly because he's worried he'll see a trail of his intestines if he does.

If feels like he's dragging himself across that concrete floor, cold and in pain, so much pain, for weeks, so when he finally pulls himself outside the building, against all odds, it takes several moments for him to realize it, and even longer for him to be able to lift his radio and call for help.

Zemo doesn't register if he gets a reply this time as he barely manages to press the button, call Bhekani once more and state that he's been injured, before he passes out and darkness engulfs him. 

Finally there is peace and no more pain.

-

T'Challa stands in the doorway to the warehouse and stares. He sees the big pool of blood and the wide, crimson trail left where Zemo had dragged himself out of the building. He had fought so hard to survive.  
T'Challa closes his eyes in an effort to block out the sounds of the medics shouting at each other in their frantic efforts to get Zemo's heart beating again.

Okoye steps up next to him, holding her palm out and showing him a couple of casings she'd found. “Military grade. My guess is Eastern European. Sokovia?”

T'Challa glances over at her, eyes filled with red rage and his voice is trembling with fury. “I want whoever did this.”

Okoye nods. “We'll find them.”

Oh, yes, they **will** find them and then, T'Challa is going to rip out their hearts with his own two hands.

In the background, the medics keeps shouting.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zemo dying in the warehouse changes everything.

[ ](https://ibb.co/S0dvLjN)

Zemo slowly opens his eyes, giving his mind time to reboot and piece together the sensory input he's getting. He's no longer in pain, he feels fine, he's currently staring up at a gray ceiling, he is surrounded by dimmed lights and there are the sound of... computers?  
His brain is reacting sluggishly, but is picking up speed.

Zemo turns his head to the side, sees the almost familiar sight of floating computer screens and highly evolved technological equipment everywhere. He's in Shuri's lab. He's in Wakanda.  
He's home.

Something wet touches his hand and Zemo shifts his gaze down, finding Anathi nudging his hand with her nose, wagging her stumpy tail with excitement over that he's finally awake. He pats her absently a couple of times before pulling his hand away in case she decides to take a chomp at it in her excited state. She nudges at his leg instead. He pats her again.

His mind is working again.  
Zemo sits up, expecting to feel pain or exhaustion, but he feels strangely rested. Touching his own chest and stomach reveals that there are no bullet wounds there. Clearly Shuri's healing tech really does work miracles. He's completely unharmed.  
On a small table next to him, there lies his collar. Zemo picks it up and attaches it around his throat.  
Next thing he notes is that he is wearing a dark Wakandian outfit. Zemo frowns a little as he can't remember anything after passing out next to the warehouse, including getting into these clothes.   
His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps nearby and he slowly gets up on his feet to find out who it is in the neighboring room. Anathi follows.

It's Shuri. She's switching between working on a hovering screen and a small datapad in her hand, but quickly glances over when he emerges.  
“About time.” Shuri says, her clever eyes scanning him. “I was starting to worry you were going to be sleeping in my lab for the next hundred years.” She sounds annoyed, but there is no anger in her eyes. “I need that area for a project, you know. Can't have you lazing about there. Your pasty presence is scaring off all the people I actually want to hang around.”

“How long have I...?” Zemo still feels slightly disoriented, having established 'where' he is but unable to figure out 'when'. Has he been unconscious for hours, days, weeks?

“Two days.” Shuri replies. “You died twice before they got you back here. Took some time to repair the damage done.” 

Zemo once more touches where he remembers the bullet wounds. “Thank you. For healing me.”  
She accepts his gratitude with a light shrug. Unlike him, she's not in the business of letting people die for no good reason.  
“I'll get out of your way now.” Zemo says, gesturing towards the exit. “I just wanted to say thank you.” He prods at Anathi, now sniffing at a chair, to follow him over to the door.

Yet, once there, he ends up pausing in the doorway for several seconds before looking back.   
Shuri is still staring at him, slightly unsettled by his weird behavior and maybe wondering if there had been some brain injury she'd failed to spot.  
Zemo gathers his courage. It takes everything he's got. “I am sorry. About your father.” For all that he and T'Challa has butted heads over T'Chaka's fate in the past, he's never apologized to Shuri.  
Him apologizing doesn't undo anything, it changes absolutely nothing, and he won't insult her by asking for forgiveness, but he means it. He is sorry.

Shuri's eyes widen slightly, showing surprise, grief and anger, even blame, but also a compassion that most people could only dream of possessing. She acknowledges his words with a faint nod.  
That's all she can give him. And he knows it's far more than what he deserves.

Zemo nods as well, grateful, then he turns and leaves her to her work. He's taken up enough of her time and resources. He will just have to find a way to repay her in the future, somehow.

Walking down the hallway, Anathi by his side, Zemo feels weirdly calm?  
The hurt, the longing for his family is still there, but it also feels right for him to be there, in Wakanda, alive.

One day Zemo will be with his family again, but right now; he still has things to do. He can't help his son, but there are other children out there who will gain from the projects T'Challa has authorized. He can't undo his wife's grief over losing their son, but he can hopefully prevent other mothers from shedding those tears. It's not much, but if Zemo can somehow enable one grandfather and grandson to get to spend the time together that his son and his father were robbed of; it's enough.  
His family would approve, Zemo knows it in the marrow of his bones.

So he walks down the hallway, driven to seek out the one who made it all possible.  
He can't fix the things he did wrong with his family, but he can make the best out of this.

He needs to see T'Challa.

 

Pausing in the doorway to the king's office, Zemo watches T'Challa for a little while as he talks to some unfamiliar man standing by his desk, nodding at whatever was being discussed.  
T'Challa looks a little tired, but otherwise as perfect as he remembers him. The sight is lovely.

Zemo only straightens a little when T'Challa suddenly notices his presence and sits up to stare at him. There is a mixture of surprise and something dangerously close to happiness in his eyes.  
Zemo nods a greeting.

T'Challa responds by shoving the papers at the unfamiliar man, telling him they will finish up later, and as the man leaves, Zemo steps inside the room. He's followed by Anathi. It is just the three of them there now.

Zemo pauses in front of the massive desk, feeling a little awkward, but T'Challa circles the desk to stand in front of him and studies the Sokovian from head to toe.

“You're alive.” T'Challa finally says, his voice heavy with both disbelief and relief, then he pulls him into a hug, trying to make it slightly less sentimental by excessively patting his back. 

Zemo huffs an amused sound. “Mighty observant of you, my king.”

T'Challa shakes his head and releases him with a slight smile. “I mean... I'm glad you're awake.” The smile fades. “You dragged yourself out of there. And you called for help.”

Now Zemo has to look away and focuses his gaze on Anathi sniffing at the wastebasket. He worries he can't quite explain why he'd done what he did back in the warehouse. Not in any way that will make sense to anyone but him or be worthy of the hope he sees in T'Challa's eyes.   
A second pass, then Zemo feels T'Challa's hand on his shoulder, it stays there, and so Zemo automatically places his own hand over it. His skin feels warm. The touch feels right.

“We found the shooters. Two of them. They are now imprisoned.” T'Challa reveals. There is a quiet, simmering fury in his voice that tells of all the painful things he wants to do to them. (Zemo suspects that T'Challa already did some damn painful stuff to them when he hunted them down.)

Zemo shrugs. They don't interest him. Instead of contemplating the fate of the guys who'd shot him, Zemo keeps his eyes on Anathi; now standing by his side and is looking up him with faint curiosity.  
He sees the big eyes, the 'smile' and her eager-to-please attitude. He has no idea how he once thought she was ugly. She's quite adorable, really. And he doesn't even feel his mouth move.

T'Challa sighs resigned. Lets his hand drop off his shoulder. “It figures you would give it to her.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“You just smiled. You gave your first actual smile to the damn dog.”  
“She's a hyena.”  
“I'm a cat person. I don't care.”

Zemo tries to hide his amusement and fails. “Clearly you do.”  
“I've been trying to make you smile since we defeated Thanos. Forgive me if I find it insulting to be beat by that thing.”  
Zemo can feel his lips tugging at a smile this time. “Her name is Anathi. Remember?”  
“I still don't care.”  
Zemo's eyes crinkle with amusement. “You're jealous of a hyena. Which you gave to me, may I remind you?”  
T'Challa shrugs. “I'm simply pointing out that I worked hard for that smile.”  
“Let me give you something else instead.” Zemo says. He reaches out, takes T'Challa's face between his hands and leans in to give him a soft kiss.

It feels like their first kiss. Technically it isn't, but it still feels like it. And it feels good.

T'Challa looks dazed. “You don't have to do this.”

“No, but I want to.” He's been wanting to do this for a while. He has tried not to think about it, tried telling himself he doesn't deserve it, but right now he decides to do it anyway. He has fallen too far to even pretend being a good man, so why not let go of the dream and reach for what he wants?

T'Challa still hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“I want to try.” Zemo is wary of promising more than he can deliver, but the thought of getting his hands on his king is damn tempting. T'Challa made desire flare up in his blood without even trying, what can they achieve together if they actually go at it with intent? He hasn't wanted anyone in a long, long time, but he does want T'Challa.

“You don't have to do this.” T'Challa repeats, making one final, weak effort at being chivalrous.  
“Shut up.” Zemo kisses him again.

It is much better when they're both on board from the start. So much better. It's all wet, slick heat that makes the pulse race and the blood heat up. Zemo has T'Challa's face between his hands, while T'Challa wraps his arms around him, caging him in as if he fears Zemo will make another run for it.  
It eventually turns into a deep kiss, tainted by a touch of greed, before it gets interrupted by a sharp yap.

Zemo breaks the kiss and glances a little breathless over at the culprit; Anathi.

T'Challa huffs against the side of Zemo's neck. “You know what? I really hate that dog.”

Absently tilting his head and offering up more skin, which is happily explored, Zemo is tempted to ignore her. Heat is pleasantly sizzling in his lower gut and this time he's intrigued by it rather than freaked out. “I told you; she's a hyena. It's insulting to call her a dog.”

“And how many times do I have to tell you; I don't care?”

Another sharp yap snaps Zemo out of it. He places a hand to T'Challa's chest and reluctantly pushes him back a little.  
“I should take her outside. She needs to run.” Zemo hesitates. “You could... I mean, if you're not scheduled for meetings and stuff, you could...?” He feels like he's fourteen years old and asking out the neighbor's daughter again and he doesn't like it. Zemo hates feeling awkward and clingy. He clenches his jaw and sticks his chin out stubbornly to compensate.

T'Challa merely appears pleasantly surprised by the offer. He nods “I'd like that.”

Zemo blinks surprised. Oh. “Okay...” He clears his throat. “Good.” 

 

Outside, they walk in silence across the plains for a long time while Anathi runs around chasing whatever catches her attention. She seems happy to give them their privacy.  
“So...” T'Challa begins. “Are you going to tell me what happened back there?” He glances over at him. “Why you changed your mind? Why you called for help?”

Zemo hesitates. He hesitates for a long time, clearly searching for words and struggling to find the right ones. “I just...” He tries again. “Men like me, we don't get to live happily ever after. We get a shitty start in life and we get a miserable ending to it, it's just how it is.”

T'Challa wants to object. He doubts there are many men like Zemo out there, if any, and that life doesn't have to end in misery, but Zemo continues before he gets the chance.

“I should have known, back when I still had a family, but I was so ambitious then. I thought that if I tried hard enough, was clever enough, if I rebelled and refused my destiny, that I could have it all. The more progress I made, the greedier I became. I should have known it would only end in misery.”  
“Zemo...” T'Challa begins, but Zemo ignores him and continues speaking.  
“I'm not a good man, I've accepted that, and while I know that means I'll end up with a shitty death, you helped me realize that I can still do good while I'm alive. With your help, I can make my family proud.”

“I think they already are.”

“Not yet. But maybe one day. Though I would advice against you especially thinking me a good man, because,” Zemo glances over at him. “there is something I want from you before that shitty death finds me.”

That makes T'Challa raise his eyebrows in surprise. There is something in the tone of his voice. A promise, almost a challenge, of something... tempting. “Is that so?”

“Can I come to your room later?”  
Even more surprised at the man's forwardness, T'Challa wishes he didn't find it so damn appealing. “You didn't ask permission last time.”  
“You told me I was welcome if I wanted to sleep and just sleep.”  
“You mean to tell me you don't intend to sleep tonight?”  
“If I'm welcome, I don't plan for much sleep, no.”

There is no apathy in Zemo's eyes this time. They are sharp with intent and alive with free will. T'Challa's smile widens and he has to force himself to appear cool. “Then I'll see you tonight.”

Zemo nods. He seems to be all business again, focusing on the hyena once more, but it is ruined by the clever glance he sends T'Challa upon their return, just before they part ways inside the building. It's a glance filled with hints of all things sinful and dirty.

T'Challa swears the minutes slows down to last for hours after that. He's forced to return to his office and deal with the burdens of ruling a kingdom, but it is close to impossible to focus. The day goes on for a small eternity and all he can think about is that damn look Zemo had given him earlier. Did it really mean what he thinks it does? Should he have said no? Was the renewed energy Zemo appeared to have gained since his near-death all an act? 

“My king, are you listening?” One of his subjects asks him.  
“Yes.” T'Challa answers, straightening up in his chair, giving her a tense smile. “Yes, of course. Go on. I'm listening.” 

He isn't.

He's too busy thinking about what that look had meant.

-

It's late. It's so late that T'Challa thinks Zemo has changed his mind and isn't going to show up after all. That's when there is a knock on his door.  
T'Challa jumps up from the bed as if it had caught fire. “Yes?”  
To his relief and thrill, the Sokovian enters the room quietly to stand inside the door after he's closed it behind himself.

“Where is the dog?” T'Challa saunters over, tries to act nonchalant. He's a king; he has to be dignified.

“Hyena. And she's in her own bed.” Hopefully. Zemo thought he saw her ogle his bed as he left.  
“Good.”  
“For the record, she's been better for me than that hopeless doctor you've been making me see.”  
“It was her idea.”  
“What?”  
“Giving you Anathi. It's was doctor Zahir's idea.”

That revelation leaves Zemo more than a little surprised, and so obviously displeased at not having realized that by himself that T'Challa is unable to resist the urge to kiss him.  
Fuck dignity and nonchalance.   
He takes Zemo's face between his hands and the kiss that follows is soft and inquisitive. It is a trying touch of lips, somewhere between chaste and tantalizing, exploring responses and intent.

T'Challa has pictured this scenario for more times than even torture could make him admit to.   
Zemo is high on the rush of allowing himself to feel good, to feel anything, and he greedily hoards everything given to him before life takes it away again.

The kisses doesn't stay chaste for too long. They are soon impatient for more. 

Zemo places one hand on T'Challa's hip, pulls himself closer as the kiss grows deeper and more intense, while T'Challa lets one of his hands slide into Zemo's silky hair and the other hand anchors itself at the base of Zemo's back. He's only forced to let go when the Sokovian insists on getting T'Challa's shirt off.  
Running his hands over T'Challa's chest, savoring the warm skin and the muscles, Zemo exhales a frustrated and amused sound. “I've been wondering for some time... Did someone photoshop you?”

T'Challa laughs quietly. “I guess that is your version of a compliment?”

“I don't do compliments.” Zemo states, leaning in to place his lips to that glorious chest, only to have T'Challa prevent him by taking his face between his hands and making him look up at him.

“Well, I do. And I think your eyes are absolutely beautiful like this.” Bright and filled with life.

Zemo blinks, struggles against a flicker of vulnerability, before he frowns, smacks T'Challa's hands away and finally gets his mouth where he wanted it, all before the other man could see the embarrassment on his face. “Shut up.”

T'Challa laughs again, so Zemo does something that turns it into a groan instead.  
Fine. Okay. Two can play that game.

Zemo's shirt follows T'Challa's to the floor and it is dangerously gratifying to finally be allowed to touch as much as T'Challa has wanted to do during close to every single one of their training sessions together. He can't stop touching, exploring, claiming.  
It would be close to perfect if only the voice at the back of T'Challa's head would shut up – the voice that kept telling him that Zemo still doesn't want this, not really – then, yeah, almost perfect.

 

“And you...” T'Challa mumbles against Zemo's lips, between kisses. “You're really sure about this?”  
Abruptly he's yanked forward and T'Challa has to throw up his hands to save himself from smacking his face against the wall next to the door, then Zemo crowds up against him, oh so tightly.

“Doesn't it feel,” Zemo breathes by his ear, rolling his hips and grinding against him, making his breath hitch in his throat, “like I'm sure?”

T'Challa shudders at that and then leans back against him. Yep, that feels like some hard evidence right there. “Then take off that damn collar.”

Zemo only hesitates for a second, then moves back a little and T'Challa turns around just in time to see him reach up with both hands, undo the latch and remove the collar. He holds it for a second, arm limp by his side, collar gently brushing by his thigh, then drops it to the floor.  
T'Challa waits.  
And then Zemo reaches for him and they are kissing again.  
Suddenly things are turning urgent.

“Bed. Bed now.” T'Challa breathes.

“Sorry. Without the collar I don't take orders.” Zemo states, then draws his tongue lewdly up the side of T'Challa's neck, making him shudder hard, and grins against his skin. “Unless I want to, that is.”

T'Challa doesn't whimper. No, there has to be a more manly word for the half-strangled sound emerging from his throat at that moment. He rallies, places his hands against Zemo's chest and shoves him backwards until he can push him down on the bed.   
Zemo lands on his back, but lifts himself up on his elbows and looks back up at him, still grinning shamelessly.

T'Challa has to kiss him again. He straddles Zemo's thighs and the kissing recommences, now only in a more horizontal position.  
It's good. It's better.

It's not enough.

More clothes has to go and they eagerly co-operate to remove any boundaries between them. Once there is nothing but skin against skin, it is even better.

Zemo breathes the occasional Sokovian curse word against T'Challa's neck, his hands feel a little uncertain at times as to how much strength he can put into his moves, and those details for some reason is precisely what shifts it from better to perfect.

At one point, Zemo pushes at T'Challa's shoulder and he allows him to move him over on his back and the Sokovian has the upper hand for a while. Zemo takes the opportunity to let his mouth claim territory where his hands have been before, but when the kisses trails down T'Challa's stomach and to where T'Challa wants it the most; it's almost over before it really begins.  
The wet heat is close to too much, sending jolts up T'Challa's spine and making his body tense up in anticipation of sweet release, so it takes enormous amounts of willpower to hold it back. He knows he can't for long though and there is still more he wants, so he is quickly forced to ease Zemo away and flips him over on his back again.

The smile on Zemo's face now is razorsharp with smug confidence. It shouldn't be _that_ alluring, but it almost finishes T'Challa off. Dammit.

He quickly grabs a hold of Zemo's wrists and pins them to the bed over Zemo's head. He gives them a squeeze, signaling him to keep them there.

“Is that an order?” Zemo asks with a faint smirk and definitely with a touch of a challenge.

T'Challa holds his gaze with authority and doesn't hesitate. “Your king orders it.” He feels the shiver go through Zemo's body, sees the tip of his tongue wet his lips and senses just how much Zemo likes it. When he releases his wrists, T'Challa is pleased to see them remain there.

There is so much he wants to do, but T'Challa knows neither he or Zemo has the patience for it this time. They're too riled up, too eager, to take things slow, so he won't, and he'll only pray that it won't be the first and last time they'll do this.   
Shifting until their bodies aligns up how he needs them to, T'Challa reaches down and takes them both in his hand after he licks the palm like the cat he's named after.

A moan is quickly bit back as Zemo tries to hide how good it feels, but he can't prevent his hands from clenching into tight fists or how his hips automatically bucks into the touch. He manages to keep himself quiet for a little while, but every stroke of T'Challa's hand chips away at his control and soon there is a tinge of a whimper in his strained breathing and T'Challa devours the sight of Zemo's arms _trembling_ with the need to touch. He holds out as long as he can.

Finally Zemo breaks and he chokes out a broken; “Please...” as he clenches and un-clenches his hands, needing to be freed from the order and his invisible chains.

A victory which would have delighted T'Challa to no end if not for the fact that he's equally desperate himself. “Yes.” He replies, half-delirious with lust.

Panting, Zemo instantly wraps one arm around T'Challa and then reaches his other hand up, places his palm against the bed head, and pushes himself down into that tight grip. For a wonderful moment there is nothing but delicious hard pressure that makes them both unable to breathe until T'Challa's hand moves again and it finally comes to a blissful completion.

T'Challa's back arches as he comes hard for a small eternity, euphoria flares through his veins, drowning out everything except for how Zemo strains against him in his own release.  
Battling against Thanos was nowhere near as exhausting as having to find the strength to flop over on his back next to Zemo instead of crumbling on top of him. For a while, they are content to focus on breathing and letting their racing hearts calm down, but T'Challa still can't prevent himself from touching Zemo's arm, gaining his attention, to see that he hadn't just ruined everything.

Zemo gives him a slight smile, eyes drowsy with lazy contentment. To T'Challa's relief, even though Zemo keeps a slight distance to cool down, there is no trace of guilt or regret in the other man.

Which is why he's both confused and disappointed to wake up and find Zemo gone from the room.

-

At first T'Challa worries that maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe there had been signs of Zemo regretting it and he had failed to see them? What if it had been a horrible mistake?  
He's relieved when Zemo actually joins him for breakfast. He notes that the collar is back around Zemo's neck and he's acting like nothing has happened, neither part appeals to T'Challa.

“What happened?” T'Challa asks instead of letting Zemo ramble on about one of the projects. “Why did you sneak off like that?”

Filling up what will be his third cup of coffee, Zemo sends him a wry look. “I thought it would be better if the guards didn't see me emerge from the royal chambers at the brink of dawn with bad bed hair.”

T'Challa frowns. “You're worried what they'll say?” He shakes his head. “Come on. There's been rumors about us two sleeping together since the battle against Thanos.”

“No need to confirm the rumors then. Me being me and you being a king, some things are better kept quiet.”

Instantly disliking how comfortable Zemo is with being a dirty little secret, T'Challa wants to object, but Zemo is already back on the subject of the project and he doesn't want to merely assume that what happened between them will happen again or become a regular thing. Maybe it was just something Zemo needed to get out of his system after his near-death experience? Also, how does he ask if they will be doing that again without it sounding like an order?  
T'Challa ends up saying nothing.

Things are not improved in the days that follows by Zemo continuing to act like nothing special had happened and just as T'Challa is about to accept it as a one-time-thing, four days later, the Sokovian asks if he can come to his room that night. T'Challa's heart jump and his lips says yes.

This time he's determined to make it last longer, to make Zemo see why this should be a regular thing, but somehow T'Challa ends up succumbing to Zemo's mouth and doesn't get to touch nearly enough in return. Still, he makes sure to curl up close to the Sokovian after, not quite daring to hold him in case it would make him feel trapped, wanting to ask and dreading the answer.

When he wakes up alone once again, T'Challa realizes two things. One; Zemo might be called the Royal Hyena, but he moves as quietly as a cat. Two; his trust in Zemo has clearly reached his subconscious level as well, considering how T'Challa will awake if the wind is rustling too loudly but fail to rise from slumber when Zemo is moving around in the room.

It is one VERY frustrating situation.

And it gets even worse.

One day T'Challa glances up from his desk where he is reading through a never-ending pile of reports and he sees Zemo and one of his assistants talking together just outside his office. Most of the guards, basically all of the Dora Milaje, will avoid Zemo or look at him with disdain, but the personnel in T'Challa's office is warming to the Sokovian and this woman clearly most of them all.  
She says something funny judging by the way she follows it up with a lovely laugh and Zemo actually smiles at woman in return. T'Challa frowns.

T'Challa is not jealous. Not really. He's not. No, it's just that there is this... uncomfortable knot that forms in his belly at the sight of it.

They have made no promises to each other and Zemo is a free man to do whatever, whomever, he wants.   
T'Challa knows this, he accepts this, he just doesn't like it, for some reason.

-

Zemo is walking down the hallway, eyes on the budget he's set up on his datapad, when there is the sound of hurried footsteps. Glancing up, he sees T'Challa and the king is moving with urgency.

“Quick!” T'Challa says, dragging Zemo into the closet they'd already hidden in once before.

As T'Challa closes the door, Zemo sighs. “They're after you again?”

T'Challa turns to face him, grinning. “No.”

Zemo blinks. “Then what...?” He doesn't get to finish the sentence as T'Challa already has his face between his hands and is kissing him. Really kissing him. And he keeps kissing him.

Confused and pleasantly surprised, Zemo is kissing him back before he is aware of doing so. He can't help but to respond to the hunger in those kisses. The predatory claim is intoxicating.  
He only grunts a little when T'Challa shoves him back against the closet-wall and then T'Challa's body fetches up against him again and the feeling is too damn good for Zemo's brain to deal with anything except that sensation and getting more of it.

Within a minute, they go from sanity to greedy kisses, pawing hands and restless bodies, and _still_ the hunger for more keeps growing.

There is a moment, when T'Challa breaks the kiss to glance down and pay attention to his hands as they undo the belt on Zemo's pants, where Zemo has a fleeting thought of how unwise this is, considering the consequences of someone finding them going at it like teenagers in a damn closet. T'Challa's reputation would take a serious hit. He should know better.

But then T'Challa sinks to his knees and takes him into his mouth without hesitation and Zemo's eyes close with a strangled gasp for air and he thumps his head back against the wall. His back arches when T'Challa begins to work him. Zemo's fingers gropes the flat wall, looking for something to hold on to as his world is turning unsteady under his feet. He bites his lip until it bleeds to keep quiet the closer he gets to his release, something he finally finds when T'Challa's hands anchor themselves on Zemo's hips and he does some magic with his tongue.

He's still shuddering through the afterwaves when T'Challa stands up, tense with urgency, undoing his own pants. Zemo wraps one arm tightly around T'Challa's shoulders and uses his other hand to help when his king chases his own completion.

It doesn't take long before they are merely leaning against each other, panting and recovering their senses.

“What was that about?” Zemo asks once T'Challa straightens and they both are trying to get presentable again.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Zemo frowns. “That was risky. We can't...” 

“I saw you flirting with Ishca.” T'Challa forces himself to smile. “That's good. I mean, it's good that you're scouting the field, or whatever the term is. I guess I just wanted a little more before it gets serious between the two of you.”

Zemo's expression goes from irritated to confused to unbearably smug. “Relax. I'm not interested in her.”

“Oh?” T'Challa will die a thousand deaths before admitting he's relieved. “Why not? She's nice and you two seemed to like each other.”

Zemo shrugs and tells the truth. “I have you. For as long as you want me around, I don't want anybody else.”

T'Challa suspects he is the one who is looking unbearably smug now, especially considering how Zemo rolls his eyes at what he sees in T'Challa's face, but he doesn't bother to hide it. He likes that answer. “Good.” He then adds; “Just you and me then. On both sides. It's a deal.” and is thrilled to see the surprised approval from the other man at the commitment in those words.

“Very well.” Zemo says.

T'Challa continues in his regal voice. “And that also means you don't get to sneak off during the night. I fully expect you to stay whenever you feel the urge to... visit.”

Now Zemo is almost smiling, but he still manages to sound professional. “Yes, my king.”

“Which I hope might be tonight.”  
“Yes, my king.”

T'Challa is quick to clearify: “But only if you want to.”

Zemo loses the battle against the smile. “Yes, my king.”

And when the morning comes, that first morning when T'Challa gets to gather up a sleep-drunk and loose-limbed Zemo in his arms before either of them are really awake, it feels like a piece of a puzzle has finally slotted into its rightful place.

-

And so they face the future together.

It takes longer than T'Challa hoped, but Zemo does eventually make one change to his room, adds one personal touch to it; a framed photo of his family. That's when T'Challa finally dares to hand over the picture of Zemo's son. He pretends not to see the tears in his eyes, even as he aches to comfort him as he knows from personal experience that some grief can't be soothed.

T'Challa asks him every so often to stop wearing the collar around his neck, but Zemo refuses. It's his. He's earned it. (Shuri makes sure his and Anathi's collars match in color and design, but he finds he rather likes it, to Shuri's great disappointment.)

Zemo asks T'Challa to ignore the slights people give the Royal Hyena, but T'Challa refuses. He even snipes back at a councilor to one of the tribal leaders, one who declares that Zemo is not worthy to be by the side of royalty, by telling him that at least Zemo is a Sokovian baron while the councilor has no rank of nobility in any country.

The Avengers remains a sore point to Zemo, but he stops actively daydreaming about their demise. He prefers to pretend they don't exist and T'Challa tries to indulge him as far as he can, and when he can't; he shields him as much as possible and approves of Zemo's restraint when he does have to face them.

Neither Ramonda or Okoye warm up to Zemo, but Zemo is okay with that. He doesn't begrudge them their anger as he carries the same towards the Avengers. He understands and merely tries to keep out of their way, while they tolerate him due to their shared love for T'Challa. It's not ideal, but it works.

Shuri takes great delight in pestering him, but seeing how she does the same to her brother; Zemo takes it as a compliment and with endless patience.  
Anathi remains his favorite distraction and grounding mechanism, something he **very** reluctantly admits to doctor Zahir. He expects her to be smug about it, is prepared to turn it into a fight, but strangely enough she seems more relieved and happy than anything else.

There are days which are good, when Zemo almost feels normal, when he will speak without being spoken to first and even make a sarcastic comment (It is during one of those days that T'Challa makes some odd comment about the color of his eyes warming up?), but there are also still days where Zemo refuses to say more than two words to Zahir, when he will be thrumming with barely restrained violence, aching to hurt someone or himself. There is no magical cure, no way to make the pain go away, he just focuses on getting through one day at the time and T'Challa is there to help him through it.

The living are still not done with him, but Zemo is starting to be okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter simply didn't want to be written, but here we are! At long last! A huge thank you to the ones who stayed with me throughout the writing of this rarepair and who gave me their support. This fic only exists because of you. I hope you've enjoyed reading as I've enjoyed writing it. Rare-pair-Hell is much nicer when there are others there to suffer with me! ;)


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